Rating: R, maybe NC-17?

Spoilers: Oh, probably.

Pairing: Fraser / Kowalski

Disclaimers and Warnings: The usual - unowned but not unloved, yadda, yadda, yadda. If they get dirty or overheated, I'll hose 'em off before I put 'em up. Anything more than a friendly handshake is at your own risk, folks, just like real life.

Notes: Some days, my brain takes a turn and all I can do is follow . . . and follow . . . and follow. I started this around Thanksgiving, 1999, and finished it Thanksgiving, 2001. Same universe as "Home Port"

This is a long, rambling thingie with some good bits and some not-so-good bits. Cliche galore. Any help seeking out and destroying the not-so-good bits much appreciated.

Some things improve with age. Some things merely ferment. Please let me know into which category you think this fits .

MHH

"Days of Thanksgiving"

by Mary Healey

Sergeant Benton Fraser arrived without fanfare to the Kowalski apartment. Fanfare would have startled him, in part because he was a modest man and disliked fuss, but mostly because he was almost two days ahead of schedule. Doing the unexpected, changing the agenda, behaving spontaneously was still new and exhilarating. And frightening, in a way that physical risks were not.

He unlocked the door with a key he'd proudly added to his sparse ring only a few months before and stepped inside. As he'd anticipated, Ray was not about. Nor had he yet done his usual frantic tidying that usually left things in greater disarray. Amused, Ben wandered around the flat, gently touching a discarded jacket, a CD case, a pair of sunglasses. Finished with his inspection, he decided to leave everything and seek out Ray. He was absurdly pleased by this decision and its carefully calculated spontaneity. Ray would laugh, and call him "freak", and invite him to share the joke

Ray. My Ray. He softly rolled the possessive pronoun, tasting it, and reflected that it was a good thing he was already considered quite daft by most of his acquaintances. Mooning over a simple everyday word. Self-indulgent nonsense that would have shocked his father. Well, quite a lot of Ben's current life would have shocked his father.

A brisk shrug and quick note later, he set out to get his man. And laughed aloud as the ridiculous cliché skittered across his mind, startling a glare from a blue-haired matron and her dignified Poodle. He tipped his Stetson to them both, briefly considered bussing the matron, decided he'd rather kiss the Poodle, and concluded that he'd save his affections for Ray. The roundabout giddiness of the encounter kept him smiling all the way to the 27th precinct station, brightening the day of almost everyone who crossed his path.

"Good afternoon, Francesca, is Ray available?"

"FRASER! Ohmigod, how ARE you? You're early, days and days early!" No one, Fraser mused ruefully, could squeal like Francesca. But he bravely endured her enthusiastic embrace and smiled as he disengaged her sticky hands from his shoulders.

"Good to see you again, Sergeant" rumbled a voice behind him and he pivoted to greet Lieutenant Welsh. "To what do we owe the unexpected pleasure of this visit?"

Before he could reply, Frannie swatted the Lieutenant's outstretched hand. "He's here for Thanksgiving, of course. Only he's not supposed to be here yet and Ray's still on that kidnapping case. And nobody else is around."

"That's alright, Francesca, I'll wait."

"No need, Fraser, no need. Feel free to join Kowalski in Interview Three and offer any little insights you may have on his case. The sooner we close it, the sooner he'll go home and quit complicating my manpower reports."

"Thank you, sir, but I wouldn't want to interfere ..."

"Not at all, Sergeant. Make yourself at home." Fraser noted with some surprise the appreciative way Welsh ogled Frannie's firm derriere as she returned to her desk. She shot a smile over her shoulder and scooted just a bit faster, wiggled just a touch more. Things were progressing quickly between them, then. Her brother must be apoplectic.

He took a quick peek through the one-way mirror, prepared to withdraw and await a more opportune moment. Interview Three contained only Ray and a forest's legacy in paperwork.

Ray looked spent. Drained. His usual electric tension dissipated. Even his hair was flattened. He looked like a drowned cat. A disgruntled, dyspeptic, dissolute, drowned cat. Fraser wanted to gather him up, shelter his beaten, defeated countenance from the world. Protectiveness would only earn him a kick in the head if he acted on it.

Instead, he merely knocked twice before entering and let Ray's weary eyes wander resignedly to the door. He smiled, a tiny gesture more crinkled eyelid than drawn mouth, as his presence registered through Ray's seated form. And became thoroughly alarmed when Ray moaned and slowly, deliberately, rhythmically began thumping his head on the wooden tabletop.

"Ray. Ray. Ray!"

"I suck." Thump. "I'm such..." Thump. "...a loser." Thump. "I forgot." Thump. "I suck." Thump.

"Ray, you didn't forget anything. Ray, I'm early. Ray, stop that and listen to me. I'm two days early and you didn't forget. Ray, please stop, you'll hurt yourself."

Forehead pressed to the table's distressed surface, Ray murmured, "You're early?"

"Yes."

"I didn't forget?"

"You didn't forget."

"I don't suck?"

Fraser automatically repressed the first reply that crossed his mind and only a beat late answered, "Of course not. I'm sorry, I should have called ahead."

Ray dragged his head off the table by rolling his shoulders, unfurling gracefully through his lower back. "They shut down the Yukon for repairs or something? You're never early. You're never late. Mr. Perfect Punctual Attendance, that's you. So what's the problem?"

Fraser ran a quick thumb over his right brow. "No problem, Ray. I simply decided to take an earlier flight. I stopped by your apartment, but you were out. Obviously. Lieutenant Welsh invited me to join you here, so here I am."

Ray pinched the bridge of his nose and groped for his glasses with his eyes still closed. "Welsh thinks I'm nuts. So what's new, huh? He's probably right, too. Look, a big pile of nothing. Zilch. Nada. Bupkus. Five days of zip. And the Feds reach their budgetary limit or something stupid like that and just pack it in. Thanks very much, keep in touch, bye-bye. And Welsh suggests that maybe I should get back to the other ninety-eleven open files I've got piled over half the squad. And the accompanying incomplete paperwork."

Ray hands crossed on his face, one seating his glasses and the other moving over his abused forehead to rub hard behind an ear. "I know it's a holiday coming up and all, but I got a feeling about this one, Frase. It stinks, but I can't find the carcass, y'know?"

"You're working alone?"

"Yeah, Vecchio took a couple days BT." Fraser barely cocked his head. "That's 'before turkey'. I was gonna take a few 'after turkey'." Ray met Ben's eyes and smiled.

"Perhaps you could fill me in? At the very least, going over the facts from the beginning may help clarify your thinking." Fraser was as content to work with Ray as he was to do anything else in his company. If Ray wanted to focus on work, then they'd work together.

A rapid knock, and before either man could respond Francesca entered the room with two coffees and a few soggy danish on a paper plate.

"No tea, Benton, sorry."

"Not at all, Francesca. Thank you."

"Try to get Baretta here to Ma's on time, willya? Don't let him forget."

"I won't, Francesca. But we're not having dinner with your family for another two days."

"It'll take you that long to clean him up. Hey," she raised her hands to ward off Ray's deathglare, "you're the one who looks like the 'Nightmare Before Christmas'. I'm just trying to keep everything moving along." She quickly ducked behind the closing door, the honed instincts of a little sister at their finest. The flung pens found no target.

Fraser retrieved the implements and sat beside Ray. He was about to suggest that they begin when he heard Ray mutter "bitch".

Before Fraser could remonstrate, Ray turned, tucking his head against Ben's shoulder.

"Ray, is that wise?"

"Prolly not. Too tired to care. Jesus, Frase, you figure someday we can manage to both be conscious together at the same time? I feel like I could sleep for a year."

"We do seem to have established a pattern of overwork and exhaustion. Perhaps you should take a break while I look over the file."

"There's not a lot there."

"I'll go over it all and form any hypotheses independent of yours. We'll compare notes after you've had a brief respite. Ray, please. Take a break."

"Nah. Can't take a break or it'll all fall apart. Gotta push through."

Fraser turned to the pile of papers on the table with a deep exhalation that wasn't quite a sigh. Ray's soft voice drifted across the short distance. "Ben? It's good to see you, y'know. I didn't say it before, so I'm gonna say it before I forget. Missed you. Glad you're here. Make it up to ya later."

"There's no need, Ray. Tell me about the case."

Ray straightened and shook his head to clear it. "Kidnapping. Six-year-old girl, Carrie Chapman. Divorced parents, the mom picks her up as scheduled. And they disappear. Poof! No former Mrs. Chapman, no Carrie. Feds figure it's a child custody thing, that's why they aren't crawling all over it. Mr. and the second Mrs. Chapman are going nuts. Called it in when Carrie wasn't home on time. And it looks good, except that most normal people aren't so good at disappearing. APB on the car got nothing. No action on her credit cards. Checking account hasn't been touched. Even the phone card hasn't been used. Nobody drops off the face of the earth that good without help."

"What about help, then?"

"No help. No close friends, no family. And no interest in any groups that help people snatch their kids, either, far as I can tell. The divorce was civilized, no beefs about alimony, custody or visitation, the ideal modern family. It just doesn't make sense, Frase. People don't just steal their kid and disappear for no reason. It's too hard to just give up everything and make a new start."

Fraser reflected that if anyone knew about new starts, it was Ray. He'd given up his identity to keep Ray Vecchio safe, he'd given up Chicago and everything familiar to go searching for the Hand of Franklin, he'd given up the safety and security of his past to create a new life with a partner whose own path kept them apart for months at a time. He trusted that the motivation underlying the latter change was not the same pain that had prompted the first two.

"Ray, people don't always behave rationally, particularly when family is involved."

"Don't I know it. But an irrational woman, acting impulsively, leaves a trail. Nobody's seen either Sarah or Carrie since they left the Chapman house on Thursday. Sarah was supposed to keep her overnight and drop her off at school Friday morning. Gina Chapman calls us Friday after the school calls her to say Carrie didn't show up. Late Friday, Mel Chapman calls for a progress report, reads Welsh the riot act, and I'm, uh, encouraged to prioritize. So I spend the weekend prioritizing. By Monday, the Feds have decided to let me run with it, Welsh rethinks the allocation of manpower, and here I am. Lots of where she isn't, nothing on where she is."

"What do you think happened?"

"Could be she cut and ran, but from what? TO what? Makes no sense. No money trouble, no boyfriend, no problems at work. I looked everywhere for a motive, I know I'm missing something. What?"

Another knock at the door, and Welsh himself looked in. "Gentlemen? I'm taking off now and suggest you do the same. There's no overtime authorized on this, Kowalski. Go home."

"Strictly off the clock, sir. Just a few more minutes."

"Hmmmph. As you wish. And Kowalski? Don't work so hard you forget to feed the Mountie."

"Yes, sir. No, sir." Then, as the door closed again. "Three bags full, sir."

A mock stern "I HEARD that, Detective" penetrated from beyond the doorway.

"Thinks he's a comedian", Ray muttered. He quirked a smile and admitted, "Well, he's funnier than the Duckboys, that's for sure."

"Perhaps the Lieutenant is correct. A good meal and a few hours' diversion might be just the thing."

"Fraser, I figured you'd be the last guy to tell me to give up." A sweetly devilish smile tugged one corner of Ray's mouth. "But this 'diversion' thing could be good."

"I'm not telling you to give up. I'm merely suggesting that whatever anomaly you've noticed is stuck in your subconscious and the fastest way to bring it to light is to concentrate on something else. Ray", Fraser said reasonably, "I'm not suggesting we forget the case. Several cycles of REM sleep and you'll ..."

"...be waking up screaming. Again. I hate that." Ray scrubbed his hands through his hair vigorously and made a sour face.

"You have a better chance of recalling something from your subconscious if you let it come to you on its own. And I think I can help you with the nightmares." The small flirtation felt very daring.

Even bone-tired, Ray's smile was brilliant. "You've convinced me. As long as we're back here first-thing tomorrow. And if you really think I may remember what I don't even know I forgot."

Fraser didn't answer in words. The smile he settled on Ray warmed them both and hurried their hands. In minutes, they'd gathered the paperwork into a few discrete piles that fit precariously on Ray's desk, collected his coat, and strode out of the bullpen discussing where they should eat. Ray offered Fraser his choice, but Ben knew Ray preferred takeout from a particular Greek restaurant when he was worrying a case and suggested that.

Aromatic paper sacks lay scattered over the coffee table, the devastation complete. Ray had eaten well and washed it down with a few beers. Fraser made himself some tea, careful not to make it seem like a reproof. Ray was sprawled barefoot on the sofa with his right ankle hooked over its back, staring blindly at the television. The sound was off.

"Hey, Ben?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"C'mere."

The single, slurred contraction instantly flared long-banked desire to shocking heat. The strong stirring in his groin was expected; he'd also come to recognize the breathlessness and butterflies as normal. The tension was welcome, no longer terrifying. He wondered if Ray knew the power he held.

He shed his shirt before dropping carefully onto a smiling Ray. "You're amazing", he whispered between kisses. "One word and there's nothing but you. Touching you." He demonstrated. "Tasting you." He sucked softly on the pulsepoint under Ray's jaw. "Loving you."

"I am all over that loving thing. Letters are great and all, and I really like the phone calls, but this is so ... oh!" Ray lost sight and coherent speech for a moment. "Ungh. Do that thing again."

"This thing?"

"No, the other thing."

"Oh, you mean this ...?"

"AHHHHH!"

"Apparently not. Well, what about ....?"

"Ohhhhhh. Un-huh. Taking a survey, Fraser? Ask me about this..."

"Oh! Hmmmmm. What was that? Was it this?"

"Uh-huh. Yeah, that's nice."

"Or was it this?"

"Yeow! Ahhhhhh. Hmmmm, like that better. More of that, please, and a side order of that first thing again."

Ben complied with enthusiasm and a great deal of clothes rustling, both sound and stealth. He made Ray laugh, then gasp, alternately slicking himself over ticklish spots and stroking sweetly responsive flesh. Ray squirmed, called Ben terrible names in mock disgust, and plotted gentle revenge. Ben only smiled and renewed his attentions to those parts of Ray neglected by separation. Their loving was tender and intense, a stuttering rhythm of call and response that built slowly to a climax more powerful for being delayed.

Ray exploded in a final burst of manic energy that almost immediately sent him crashing into sleep. Ben lifted his head from the cushion of Ray's chest and regarded his lover speculatively. As tired as Ray had been, he might sleep through until morning. On the other hand, the beer made that unlikely. He reflectively sought the bitter aftertaste on his own lips, decided to let the predictable results of alcohol consumption serve as an alarm, and settled himself back down, giving one last appreciative swipe to Ray's collarbone.

By six a.m., they'd moved to the bed and Ray had had two screaming nightmares. Even Ben's warmth and gentle handling couldn't shelter him from the assault of dark dreams. He claimed little memory of what he dreamed, nothing that pinpointed his unease.

Fraser gave a brief longing thought to joining Ray in his morning ablutions, but decided that it would be more efficient to shower separately. Instead, he scrounged through the tiny kitchen for something Ray might consider breakfast. Coffee, toast with jam, food they could eat in the car if Ray wanted to get started right away.

"Hey, you. Getting domestic?" Barefoot and warmly damp, hair a freshly moussed mare's nest, Ray's sunny smile hammered Ben's heart. "There's probably not much but cobwebs and moldy spiders in there. I was gonna get groceries today. No, yesterday. Today's Wednesday, right?"

"Right. Coffee?"

"Mmmmm. Why does your coffee always taste better than mine?"

The intimacy of the small space demanded they slip into a loose embrace. Fraser accepted a minty kiss and returned it, tasting coffee and chocolate and toothpaste. Every morning, his brain sang, this could be you every morning. Warm hands, warm heart in place of cold silences.

"I cleaned the pot. What are your plans for today?"

"Same old, same old. Probably have to scratch out some paperwork. Wanna come help?"

Ben watched Ray transform from disheveled lover to rumpled cop, and put his own thoughts along more businesslike lines. "I'm completely at your disposal."

The lover flashed brightly from the cop's eyes. "I don't get that lucky, Ben. You sure you don't mind spending your vacation this way? I mean, you can stay here, or visit the Vecchio's, or whatever you want."

"I want to be with you." Ben sought better words, more romantic words, liquid phrases that would flow into Ray's heart and become part of his soul. Nothing came to mind. Ray regarded him seriously for just a moment, then shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah, me too. Pitter-patter, Fraser, let's catch us some bad guys."

Together and separately, they worked steadily through the day. Lieutenant Welsh had pointedly requested progress reports and updates on seventeen cases. Fraser dutifully transcribed Ray's notes into neatly-typed forms, made a dozen followup phone calls, fielded greetings and friendly inquiries from detectives and civilian aides from throughout the building. He shielded Ray from Welsh's deceptively casual interest, insisted on ordering lunch, supervised while Ray ate that lunch, and knew his cool practicality wasn't fooling Ray for a moment. He suspected he wasn't fooling Welsh, either, but the Lieutenant was both observant and tolerant, prerequisites of the difficult job he performed so admirably.

Ray, for his part, spent the morning avoiding Welsh, battling with the computer system for more information about the Chapmans than it had already surrendered, and pestering Frannie unmercifully for the impossible. He held the irrational certainty that things would work out as long as Fraser was there.

Fraser's thoroughly unobtrusive tidying moved to Vecchio's desk in the afternoon, but was interrupted just before two by Ray towing a drawn-looking nervous man to his desk. Ray was solicitous; therefore, the man wasn't a suspect or an informant. From his agitation and the exhausted cast of his features, Fraser thought he might be seeing Mr. Mel Chapman.

It wasn't long before his guess was confirmed. Ray motioned him over and waved rather indecisively between them. "Mr. Chapman, this is Sgt. Fraser, RCMP. Frase, this is Mel Chapman, Carrie's dad."

Mel Chapman's hand was cold but dry, and he met Fraser's eyes directly. "Canadian police? You think Sarah took Carrie to Canada?"

"Uh, no sir." Ray raised one eyebrow at Fraser. Maybe? Fraser nodded a bare 'no'. "Fraser used to be my partner's partner, unofficially. It's a long story", he added at the man's continued confusion, "one you really don't have time to hear, but Fraser is one of the best. He's going to help us find Carrie." The exaggeration tempted Fraser to a correction. Ray's desperation quashed it.

"Have you found anything yet?" the worried father asked. "Any word at all?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Nobody's reported seeing the car, and they haven't made any purchases by check or credit card. We've got bulletins out for both Sarah and Carrie, but no one's seen anything."

"Mr. Chapman", Fraser spoke gently. "May I ask you a few questions?" Slowly, the defeated man raised his head to look at the Mountie and nodded. "I realize you've already gone through this with Detective Kowalski and probably others, but could you tell me what happened on Thursday?"

Fraser observed Chapman carefully, measuring his words and posture for hidden truths. "Nothing out of the ordinary, or so I thought at the time. We had breakfast, Carrie and Gina and me. I dropped Carrie off at school before I went to work. That was the last time I saw Carrie." Tears glinted in his brown eyes.

Ray had quietly opened the folder titled "Chapman" and was contemplating the school photo of Carrie stapled to the file. Fraser leaned toward Ray, one hand resting lightly on Ray's shoulder. He glanced back to Chapman. "You weren't present when Sarah came for Carrie?"

"No, I was at work. Gina was there, she works at home. You know", he frowned, concentrating, "that was a little different. Sarah usually picked Carrie up from school directly on Thursday, but Gina said Carrie came home and Sarah picked her up there. Probably forgot something essential, like a Beanie Baby or something." His sad smile touched Fraser.

"Would it be possible to talk to Mrs. Chapman?"

"Sure. I'm on my way home now, why don't you follow me?" A head tilt, an almost imperceptible nod, and Ray grabbed his jacket off the chair back. Fraser snagged his Stetson from its resting spot as they made their way silently to the parking lot.

Safely in the GTO, Ray demanded, "Well? Anything?"

"Nothing noteworthy, Ray. Mr. Chapman is a concerned parent, desperate for the return of his child. It's interesting, though, that he had nothing to say about his ex-wife."

"Oh, he was spitting threats everywhere the other day, gonna feed bite-sized pieces of her to the sharks and man-eating lions. There was something about decapitation, drowning, and hungry rats, too, but he was a little upset. He's calmed down a lot." Ray smiled wryly.

"Were his threats entirely directed at his ex-wife?"

"Uh, no. Let's just say we'd have had to find other entertainment last night if he'd followed through." Fraser looked alarmed. "Hey, no big deal. He's not gonna hurt anybody."

"No", Fraser agreed. "He doesn't seem to be a violent man."

Gina Chapman was noticeably younger than her husband, a petite woman with a tennis player's strong grip and attractive legs. She greeted Mel sweetly, and offered coffee and cake to everyone. Ray accepted, Fraser asked for a glass of water.

Settled in a kitchen larger than Ray's entire apartment, Fraser sipped his drink slowly and let his gaze wander around the comfortable room. The front of the house had been beautifully, coldly decorated. The kitchen was less professionally appointed, and had a much warmer ambience. A much warmer temperature, too, there was something baking in the oven and bubbling pots on the stove. Fraser inhaled deeply, cataloging and identifying the various scents with ease. He frowned slightly, noticing something amiss.

"Expecting company?" Ray's bright gaze took in the counters cluttered with flour canisters, napkin bins, and other small, frequently used items. Mixing bowls were piled in the sink.

Mel Chapman paused in his rummaging through the well-filled refrigerator. "My family always gets together for Thanksgiving. I don't really feel very festive, but Gina convinced me that we couldn't cancel."

"I'd hoped Carrie would be back with us, of course," Mrs. Chapman said, lacing her fingers together. "But I also thought it would be good for Mel to have his family around him while we wait for news. You understand, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Fraser assured her. His eyes squinted slightly, and he cautiously asked, "Is there something, well, please don't take offense, but have you taken the trash out recently?"

Gina clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh, my goodness! I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was that obvious. With everything else, I forgot. There's some spoiled food in the bag. Honey, will you take the garbage out?" Mel moved to comply, repelled momentarily by the concentrated stench from the pail. They sat in silence while he completed the small domestic chore. Fraser continued his casual inspection.

The refrigerator was pasted with lists, comic strips, and child's drawings, all held onto the metal with bright magnets. There was a large, very ugly, very crudely made wooden bird in the center of the table. He found himself staring at the poor rendering with a dubious expression.

Gina noticed the look and laughed. "That's the party chicken," she explained. "It's hideous, I know, but it's a family thing."

"Quite an ... unusual decoration," he allowed. He looked up to ask a question, but was startled into silence by the adoration on Gina Chapman's beautiful face. She was watching her husband seat himself at the head of the table, and she appeared transfigured.

"Mrs. Chapman, would you tell me about what happened on Thursday?"

She glanced at her husband, as if for permission. An inquiring look, but in no way submissive. He nodded once and returned his attention to his cup. "Well, usually Sarah picked Carrie up straight from school, but Carrie had forgotten something and walked home."

"Did she walk home often?"

"Oh, no, one of us would always drop her off and pick her up at school. It isn't far, but these days it isn't safe for a little girl, even just those few blocks. I was surprised to see her, of course, and asked her where Sarah was. She was just explaining when Sarah drove up. Carrie ran upstairs to find whatever it was she thought was so important and Sarah came in. We talked for a few minutes, mostly about Carrie, then they left."

"Did either Sarah or Carrie seem different, upset?"

"No, not at all." She wrung her hands. "If I'd thought something was wrong, I would never have let Sarah take Carrie."

"Hmmmmm." They spoke for awhile about the possibilities, but Fraser didn't learn anything new. He also didn't mention the suspicion he'd formed, or let anything show in his manner. Ray picked it up anyway, and let Fraser take the lead without comment.

After several minutes, the conversation lagged enough for Fraser to ask for a tour of the house. Gina blushingly tried to decline, but Mel proudly led the Mountie and detective through the house, pointing out Carrie's childish handiwork and Gina's crafty contributions. Fraser attended dutifully, omplimenting when appropriate. As carefully as he observed the Chapmans, he saw nothing to support or direct his suspicions.

They returned to the kitchen, where they said their goodbyes. Ray trailed Fraser in pensive silence. On their way back to the precinct house, he asked, "Why do I feel like time's running out? There's *something* there, Fraser, and I'm not seeing it."

"Nothing would please me more than to wrap up this case, Ray. As far as I can tell, you've covered all the possibilities and there's simply nothing to support one theory over another. I'm sorry, Ray, as trustworthy as your instincts have been before, until you've got something more substantial than general unease, I'm afraid I won't be much help."

"Great. Nightmare city, here I come." He half-twisted in the seat to look directly at Fraser. "Maybe you should let me roll through the whole nine yards tonight. See if maybe Mr. Clue wants to speak up a little further on?"

"I'd rather not."

"Hey, I've been slogging through on my own for a lotta years now. Bad dreams won't kill me." Ray sent a lopsided smile at Fraser. "May wish I was dead, but that's not news."

Just before five, a shadow crossed the expense report Fraser was checking. He glanced up, mildly irritated.

"Ray!"

"Heya, Benny. Frannie says you've been camped out here since yesterday. What's the deal?" Ray Vecchio looked resplendent in charcoal grey and maroon. Emerald flecks in his tie echoed the deep green of his eyes.

Fraser shrugged, his smile unwavering. "No deal, Ray. I had a few extra days, so I decided to take an earlier flight."

"And you didn't call? Benny, I'm hurt." A twinkle softened the words, but the expression on Ray's face combined confusion and humor.

"I meant to, really, but Ray asked me about a case and, well ... "

"Yeah, yeah," Ray raised his hands in surrender. "You've never met a crime you could walk away from. At least it's Kowalski holding the leash and not me this time."

Fraser raised one eyebrow, and replied a bit stiffly, "I didn't realize my assistance was so unwelcome."

"Hey, c'mon, take it easy. Geez, it's just a joke. You know I wouldn't want anybody else lending an official unofficial hand with my cases. It's the Chapman kid, right?"

"Yes."

Ray looked across the room at Kowalski, who was in animated conversation with Francesca and another civilian aide. Lowering his voice, he leaned closer to Fraser. "Look, it's pretty clear the ex-wife just took off with the kid. I know Stanley there doesn't see it that way, but trust me, Benny, he's obsessing over nothing."

A glint of steel glimmered through Fraser's reply. "Ray thinks otherwise, and his instincts in these matters is usually reliable. And he doesn't like being called 'Stanley'."

"His instincts say there's more, mine say there's not. I can see why you'd want to side with him, but you're not doing him any favors. And I know he doesn't like being called 'Stanley', that's why I do it."

"I'm not taking sides, Ray. Ray says there's something he's missed, and I believe him." Fraser looked up at his friend. "You think I'd encourage his pursuit of a dead-end case just to, what? Spend my vacation doing American paperwork, reading American criminal files, and chasing American criminals?"

Ray looked at him steadily, a half-smile his only reply.

"Point taken. Untrue, as it happens, but point taken."

"C'mon, Benny, let Kowalski stew if he wants. You come home with me and let Ma fuss. We'll eat too much, laugh a little, and maybe play some ball after dinner." Ray laughed and settled a gentle hand on Fraser's shoulder. "A touch of mutual abandonment might give Stan and Stella something to commiserate about. Maybe that'll keep 'em from freezing the party tomorrow. C'mon."

Fraser was tempted, but only for a moment. A glance at his partner and he shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Ray. I can't."

"You mean you won't." Ray's voice rose into just a hint of a whine.

"Alright then. I won't. You've got your family and Stella to keep you company. Ray's very upset about this case, and he's alone. Of course," Fraser shrugged and looked away casually, "your assistance would be appreciated."

"On my day off? You're nuts, Benny. Besides, Ma's got us trekking through half the markets on the South Side for stuff for tomorrow. I stopped by because Frannie told me you were here and Kowalski put you straight to work. Shoulda figured, you like it like that." Ray dropped his hand with an exaggerated sigh. "Well, I'll forgive you this time, but I want you guys at the house extra early to make up for it. There's some stuff I want to talk to you about."

Fraser lifted his head to make direct eye contact with Ray, and smiled. "Thank you, Ray."

"Yeah, yeah. Remember, the Kowalskis are going to be there tomorrow. And Stella. I'm counting on you to drag him there, case or no case. No excuses. Look, Benny, I know this is Blondie's idea of the holiday from hell, but it'll be okay. Worst comes to it, I'll park the Kowalskis with my Uncle Nunzio. He'd talk the hind leg off a donkey. And I promise to keep Stella out of his hair. You think maybe it isn't the Chapman kidnapping that's got him so wired? Maybe he's trying to get out of dinner tomorrow? When we talked about picking you up at the airport, he was determined to do it himself. Like he didn't want to spend any more time with his folks than he had to."

"I'm sure that's not true. He told me he was looking forward to a big family celebration." Fraser looked for Ray across the room. Something in the atmosphere had changed, and instinctively he located his partner. Ray had moved, and was in a serious discussion with Stella DuBois Kowalski Vecchio. Fraser watched her smile and say something, sweetly persuasive. Ray scowled and shook his head. Stella looked over her shoulder, spotted Fraser and Vecchio, and stalked to the desk. Her cheeks were flushed with bright color, and an angry glitter sparked her eyes. She was stunningly beautiful in high dudgeon, and Fraser wondered if either Ray had ever dared tell her so. Probably not, they were still breathing and relatively unscarred.

"Fraser, will you tell my ex-husband that his family obligations are more important than pulling overtime on a stalled case?"

"Thank you, I'm fine. It's nice to see you again too, Mrs. Vecchio. And, no, I won't. Ray makes his own decisions in these matters, it isn't my place to set his priorities." Fraser rebuffed her gorgeous glare calmly, his surface indifference a practiced fraud. "If you'll excuse me, there are things I should attend to." He stood.

Stella turned to her husband and hissed. "Ray, say something!"

Amused, Ray shrugged. "Okay. See you tomorrow, Benny."

"Oh, that's a help. Fraser, Ray's supposed to have dinner with his parents tonight. He can't cancel, it wouldn't be fair to them."

"Ray's said nothing about that." Stella drew breath to explode. "He may have forgotten," Fraser mused, "or he may consider it none of my business. Which, of course, it isn't." He paused for a beat. "There may be some other explanation. It doesn't matter. You've reminded Ray, and I'm sure he'll take whatever action he thinks appropriate." Ray had returned to his desk and was sitting with his palms pressed to his temples, willing himself invisible.

"That's not very reassuring." Stella pressed her thin lips tightly together and swept a withering glance over all three men. Her grand exit was marred by the Rays trading a look and a sigh. That, and the tongue Frannie stuck out at her elegantly retreating back. Vecchio trotted after her, cuffing his sister affectionately on the back of the head as he passed. She lunged to react, but Ray threw a supple hip fake and easily evaded her grasp, laughing.

Kowalski smiled without lifting his eyes or turning his head. "Thanks, Fraser. I did forget about dinner. You getting here early kinda got me off track."

"Sorry, Ray."

"S'okay. Not like we're on a hot trail or something. Look, I'll call Mum and tell her you're coming to dinner. She likes you."

"I don't want to impose, Ray, or intrude on your time with your family."

Ray twisted left to capture Fraser's full attention, a fierce look as strong as a caress. "You are my family, Frase. They're just my folks." Fraser blushed, unable to think of any reply he could make that would be appropriate in this workplace setting. Ray smiled again, bright and possessive and just a little sly. "They always ask about you. Good thing there's something between us, 'cause they act like there's something between us."

Fraser blushed hotter, and asked his question with a look.

"Nah, not a word. It's funny, y'know? Even Stella just now, and probably Vecchio too, they all just kinda act like they know we're together. Weird. Maybe telling people won't be so bad." Ray grunted and shook his head. "And maybe pigs fly, but only when nobody's looking. Sorry, Frase."

"Call your folks, Ray. People will think what they will, no matter what we say or who we tell." Fraser had extensive experience for this assertion, including some embarrassing episodes of self-delusion.

Ray grinned and swiveled to the phone, picking up the receiver and dialing the number from memory. Given the all-clear from his mother, he dug out the last case updates for Welsh and was just slapping them on the Lieutenant's desk as Fraser finished the neglected expense report.

Ray's comment about the way they were treated engaged Fraser's

curiosity. They'd always been carefully circumspect in any situation they might be observed, and he'd attributed the casual tolerance of the bullpen to the assumption of a more conventional partnership. But Stella had appealed to Fraser as someone who held influence over Ray's decisions, perhaps more than the simple prerogative of a good friend? Someone who had a stronger effect on Ray than Stella herself could claim, certainly. Ray Vecchio also behaved as though Fraser's opinion carried more weight with Kowalski than that of his workmate, even in a police matter.

Now that it had been brought to his attention, Fraser spent the ride to the Kowalski's camper considering the behavior of his friends and acquaintances in a different light. Nor did Ray disturb the silence, still worrying at the Chapman case.

Dinner was quiet, the well-meaning Kowalskis alternately fussy and awkwardly silent. Fraser was preoccupied in his observations, answering briefly any direct question and remaining silent the remainder of the time. Never completely comfortable around his parents, Ray's distraction appeared merely sullen.

Driving home, Ray asked, "What were you looking at all night?"

"Hmm, sorry?"

"You were looking at me weird all night. What's with that?"

"I was just thinking about what you said. About how people seem to treat us as a couple. We don't behave any differently in public now than before, but you may be right. It's difficult to tell."

"It was just a comment, Fraser. Probably just my great instincts screwing up again." Bitterness suffused Ray's voice, sour self-loathing escaping in a stream. "And you're wrong, we are different now than we used to be."

"I hadn't noticed a difference. In what respect?" By silent consent, Ray pulled the GTO over and parked. The car was too small to hold this discussion. They got out and walked. Fraser waited patiently for Ray to answer.

"It's why you're here. It's why you haven't given me a half-dozen logical reasons to give up the Chapman case. It's why you come here two days early and don't say a word about doing my paperwork, about making my followup calls, about being dragged wherever I feel like taking you." Ray kicked a can in frustration.

"I don't understand."

"You used to push back. Hell, you used to push first. Now, you just agree with whatever I say, with whatever I want, and I push and I push and you just keep giving ground. How far can I push before you've had enough, huh? How far can I go before you put your foot down and say 'now, Ray' in that smug tone that makes me want to smack you?"

"What do you want from me, Ray? I thought you wanted to work, I thought you wanted my company?" Fraser remembered a word Ray Vecchio had once used. Blindsided. He hadn't foreseen any of this conversation. He couldn't see any good outcome. He felt sick.

"Dammit, Fraser, I want YOU. Stuckup Mr. Logical, by-the-book, tastes-the-evidence you. Not the Stepford Mountie. Not a Canadian yes-man who's only trying to keep his boyfriend happy."

"Ray!"

"Fraser, you didn't even READ the file. I said, there's something there. You said, okay, Ray. You didn't read the file."

"Was there anything in the file you omitted?"

"That is not the point, Fraser. Omitting is not the point. You backed me up, without any reason at all, over Welsh, over Vecchio, over a lot of people that have your favorite logic stuff working on their side. Because you won't stand against me."

"You're upset because I agree with you?"

"I'm upset because you aren't working the case. You're just play-, play-, dammit, trying to make me feel good."

"Placating."

"Whatever. It makes me feel like an idiot, okay? Brain-damaged or something. You can't agree with me about everything, I know that. I don't want that." Ray stopped, and a long pause stretched time. Fraser waited for the other verbal shoe, the one labeled 'I don't want you.' Instead, Ray asked softly, "Ben, what are you afraid of?"

Trust Ray to find the real question. Trust Ray. Trust.

Fraser ran.

He could hear Ray curse and follow, but it wasn't Ray he needed to outrun. He pounded on aimlessly until he saw a wooded park, a mass of dark branches under the night sky. He ran through the trees, never

outdistancing the need to keep going, until the impassive trees and cold moon conspired to trip him and he fell. On his knees, he was trying to struggle upright when Ray slammed into him from behind.

Cheek pressed to the hard earth, Fraser felt Ray's weight lift slightly as he held himself up on his arms. "Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. What are you afraid of?"

Fear, Fraser noted with detached interest, was very similar to arousal. The same breathlessness, the same flush, the same inarticulate desperation. He had to answer. Ray was waiting. "Losing you."

Ray sighed and let his body settle a little more heavily onto Fraser's. "You aren't losing me, you big goof." He kissed Ben's jaw at the joint.

"You want something I'm not sure I can give you. You aren't happy with how I treat you. Ray, I want you to be happy." Misery curled around his words. "I don't know how to be with you anymore. I'm so sorry, Ray."

"Fraser, I am happy. You asked how we were different, and I told you. I know you're looking out for me and everything, and that's cool. But people disagree sometimes. They argue. Sometimes they even fight. You can do that and still be friends. We can do that and still be lovers." Ray petted Ben's hair gently, caressing slowly, calming, reassuring.

Fraser sighed. "I don't know how."

"And that scares you. No surprise there, you only bet on the sure things." Ray worked his fingers deeper into Fraser's pelt, the strong massage closing Ben's eyes, relaxing him despite his dismay.

"I don't bet."

"Heh. Not with money. But you take risks, and that's like betting. Every time you take a stupid risk, you'll tell me you knew it would work out. That it wasn't a stupid risk at all. That's a sure thing. And you're changing the subject.

"Look, Fraser, I don't need you to be playacting with me all the time. If

you think I'm wrong, tell me I'm wrong. We'll slug it out like

gentlemen. Or cops and Mounties."

"Placating."

"Are you telling me I'm wrong?" Ray slid a little further up Ben's body, enough to drop his head over Ben's shoulder and look at him sternly, nose to nose.

"Yes, Ray." Ben smiled in the dark, lipping a wayward hair at Ray's temple like a curious colt.

"Good." Ray dropped a brisk kiss on Ben's parted lips and rolled away. "Let's go home before I start thinking about all the nasty stuff we're probably lying in."

They helped each other out of the dirt, brushing twigs and bits of unidentifiable organic matter from their clothes. Picking their way toward the road with considerably more care than they'd shown in the other direction, Fraser startled hard when Ray laced their fingers together. Ray laughed and used their joined hands to pull Fraser's bulk closer.

"Ray, we shouldn't."

Ray nodded solemnly. "You're probably right. So what? My hands are cold, and I forgot my gloves. I've only got one cold hand this way."

"Ray, someone might see us", Fraser protested, although he made no effort to move his hand.

"Nobody we know lives around here. We're fine." Ray tucked Fraser's forearm against his body. Made openly in a public place, the possessive

gesture seemed strongly erotic.

"Nevertheless, we agreed to be discreet." Distracted by unruly physical reactions, Ben tripped. He was saved from falling by Ray's firm grip on his arm.

"See? Just helping a good buddy out." Ray laughed and stroked the palm of his free hand over their clasped fingers. Fraser rocked to a halt.

Quietly, he whispered, "Ray, let go of me. Please."

Ray's radiant smile, as exciting as a touch, glowed in the dimness. Ben returned the smile, disentangled their hands, and began to jog away, calling over his shoulder, "You'd better drop me at the precinct, I've got a file to read!"

"Tomorrow, you deranged Canadian!" sputtered Ray, half a block behind

before he could react and straining to close the gap.

An erection, noted Fraser, was a damned inconvenience when trying to move at speed. Fortunately, it seemed his pursuer was similarly handicapped. He lost breath in a laugh as his mind automatically substituted "challenged" for "handicapped", and Ray gained a few meters.

Reaching the GTO, Fraser turned and watched Ray stagger the last few strides to the car, muttering imprecations under his breath. Ray unlocked the driver's side door, and for a brief moment Ben wondered whether he'd be left standing on the sidewalk. Ray leaned on the top of the car and asked between gasps, "You done?"

"Yes."

"Okay then. Get in the car."

"The door's locked."

"Oh."

Driving again, Ray kept restlessly glancing at Ben, but wouldn't meet his eyes. Ben remained silent. Ray drove a circuitous route; still, Ben looked at him in perfect trust and said nothing. About three blocks from the 2-7, Ray cracked. "You seriously want to read that file tonight?"

"If it's no trouble, yes."

"Of course it's trouble! But it'll be more trouble tomorrow. Tell you what, we'll go in and grab the file and you can read it at home."

"Ray, you aren't supposed to take casefiles home."

"Well, if you're going to be persnickety about it, we can make a copy of the file and take that home. But it's a waste of the taxpayers' money, making copies of stuff that nobody else is going to need while I've got it anyway."

"As you wish." Fraser observed Ray's suddenly thunderous expression. "This is ridiculous. Ray, I'm agreeing with you because you're right. My objection was simply a difference in procedure, not a matter of law or justice."

Ray parked the small car and let out a sigh. "Okay, okay. It isn't just you, y'know? I know I'm a dork about this stuff, about making other people responsible for my happiness and all."

"Who told you that?"

"Stella," Ray replied automatically, then did a quick double-take. "How'd you know?"

"It sounds like something said to hurt you. Something that you repeat to hurt yourself. And it isn't true."

Ray shrugged. "I expect too much from people, sometimes."

"And I don't?" Wry amusement tinged his words.

"Good point," Ray conceded. "Why don't you wait here, I'll zip in and get the file and be right out?"

"Alright." Ray shot a suspicious look at the Canadian, wary of ridicule. Fraser sighed. "Ray, there are two possible responses to a request, agreement and disagreement. I refuse to disagree with you simply because you think I'm being too agreeable. That's just silly."

"Yeah, well, I can do silly. You're really okay with this?"

"Ray, I'm fine with this. Are we going to have an argument every time I agree with you?" Fraser asked, exasperated. He paused, the ludicrousness of the question registering. Ray started to laugh, Fraser joined him a moment later.

Waiting for Ray, Fraser had time to reflect on his recent behavior. He was grateful for the serendipitous outcome of their discussion in the park, but puzzled by both its genesis and conclusion.

He'd thought loving Ray would be little different than simply adjusting their somewhat complicated friendship. Intellectually, he knew Ray was the same endearing mass of insecurities and defensive aggression he'd always been, and that his own ingrained insecurities and reserve was intact. Sexual congress shouldn't change the essence of their relationship.

But it did. Suddenly, it wasn't enough to accept Ray's quirks. He needed to understand Ray, what he believed, how he thought, how he could love someone as boring as Benton Fraser. He'd told Ray much too simply that he feared losing him, but hadn't realized all the myriad ways losing Ray had become possible, some far more frightening than even death or physical separation. He was afraid of losing Ray's respect. His amused, gentle tolerance. His friendship. His attention. His love.

And by this roundabout illogic, Fraser also realized Ray feared a similar loss. That his inexperienced attempts to coexist by putting Ray's needs above his own had led him to risk subsuming himself entirely. Ray was upset because he was losing Ben to a, what had he called it?, Stepford Mountie. Perfectly subservient, perfectly agreeable, and perfectly dreadful.

Fraser sighed. The things Ray already knew, by instinct or bitter experience, were hard-won revelations for him. He confessed at last a fear of the unknown Ray had recognized instantly, and accepted without question. The only way he'd ever learned to control such fears was to identify the parameters of the "unknown" subject, investigate the topic as thoroughly as a valid library card and a naturally inquisitive mind could encompass, and transform the "unknown" into a measured quantity. Betting on a sure thing, indeed. As he spotted Ray emerging from the police station, he wondered if Ray would laugh when he discovered his friend's new area of informal investigation.

Ray was panting slightly as he slid into the driver's seat and shook the ignition key clear of its mates. He handed the thick folder to Fraser and said over the sound of the reawakened engine, "Sorry I took so long. We got a break, but I don't know what it means. A chop shop bust turned up the VIN plate off Sarah Chapman's car. I called over, and the guys working the bust said they'd try to find out where the rest of the car went, but there's no way it'll have usable prints or fibers or anything if it was hacked into spare parts."

"Do they know where the car was taken from?"

"No, and they aren't likely to. It was a big bust, stuff from all over the city, it'll take 'em days to catalog it all. Still, we know Sarah Chapman hasn't got a car any more." Frustrated, Ray muttered, "One less place to look. One down, seventeen trillion to go. This process of elimination stuff is stupid."

"It's aggravating, certainly. Does this piece of information help clarify anything for you?"

"Nah. In fact, it makes things weirder. Now they're out there somewhere with no car, no money, nothing. And I can't find 'em."

"Ray," Fraser began, but was cut off.

"Frase, no offense, but I need a little quiet time." Slipping the GTO into gear, Ray decanted his annoyance by rapidly bouncing his wrist on the steering wheel, bracelet chiming. He shifted restlessly, fingers tapping, while Fraser waited for explanation or explosion. He got a little of both.

Minutes later, slipping the sleek black car into its parking slot, Ray announced, "Ok, that's it. I'm done. You can leave that folder in the car, Fraser, you don't have to read it. Just forget about it. I give up, already. Unless somebody comes around with the whereabouts of the Chapman kid tattooed on their forehead, I'm ready to move on."

"Ray, are you sure?"

"I'm tired of thumping my head against a wall, ok? They've been gone a week, they could be anywhere. I'm off the clock, it's Thanksgiving tomorrow, I've got stuff I should be doing." Ray glanced slyly at Fraser. "I've got a lot of stuff I could be doing."

Ben blushed, invisible in the dark, but Ray knew anyway. And he smiled. The smile faded when Fraser climbed out of the GTO still clutching the Chapman folder. "I said you could leave it in the car, Fraser."

Mildly, Fraser replied, "It's alright, Ray. I'd like to look it over."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. It's no trouble, really."

Ray was almost annoyed. Then he looked hard at Fraser, shrugged, and laughed. "That's more like it, Fraser, you pigheaded Mountie."

Fraser said, still mild but much more primly, "I prefer strong-minded, Ray. Or even stubborn. Pigheaded is such an ugly word. Although it's true pigs have very good minds for a domesticated animal. For any animal, actually. They're supposed to be the most intelligent of barnyard creatures..."

"Enough, Fraser. Save it for somebody who cares."

"Don't you care, Ray?"

Startled, Ray's foot slipped on the step and he clutched the handrail. "Not about pigs", he chuckled.

Ray led the way into the apartment, shucking his jacket at the door and tossing his keys into a bowl on the counter. Fraser set the Chapman folder down and watched Ray move toward the windows.

"Stand there for a moment." Testing time.

"Like this?" Ray adopted a Charles Atlas pose and grinned.

"No. Just stand there. There are some things I need to say. First, you were right. I've been disrespectful and unforgivably arrogant. You're a strong, capable man, not some fragile creature that has to be coddled and protected. You deserve to be treated as a partner and an equal. Disregarding that was wrong. I'm sorry, I'll do better. And if I slip up, you have permission to kick me in the head." Ray grinned again and closed his eyes, hips swaying slowly to mark his satisfaction, slow-dancing to an inner rhythm.

"Second, I think you should reconsider dropping the Chapman case. That isn't condescension, it's respect for your professional instincts. Which are quite good, by the way." Fraser hurried to his next point before Ray could marshal any argument.

"Third, you barely escaped an indecent exposure charge tonight." Ray's surprise, characteristically, manifested through sudden stillness. Ben thought he could look at Ray forever and be content. If looking was all he was permitted. Mercifully, it was not. His voice dropped to a baritone whisper. "Or worse. At least twice. I'd like to show you what could have happened, explain the risks you ran. May I?"

Ray's head dropped back, throat exposed. Fine tremors chased across his back and down his legs. "Yes."

Ben allowed himself movement, allowed his fingers a fleeting brush against denim as they traversed the fastenings of jeans and flannel. He struggled to keep his voice even, stripping wool and cotton from his torso, relieving the pressure awkwardly binding him, well-started from memory and anticipation. "Your hands in my hair. Stroking my scalp. So exciting. I want you to do that again. Long, deep strokes. So good."

Ray's fingers clutched reflexively as Ben pressed close. Strong arms wrapped about him, and a susurration of soft breath murmured, "Will you do that, Ray?"

Ray's jaw worked for a moment, but language was lost. He nodded. And he waited for what Ben would say next, where Ben would touch next. He waited, and tried to be patient. The effort was etched clearly on his face.

Ben released him abruptly, and Ray moaned, his legs wobbly. "Take my hand, Ray. Hold my hand like you did before, and I'll show you what nearly happened on the street tonight." Ben offered a warm hand, and Ray slipped the muscled forearm between his elbow and his ribs. Ben waited a moment, then tested their joining with a gentle tug. Ray tightened his arm, the small, demanding, possessive act that had so very nearly overrun Ben's composure earlier. This time, he swung in front of Ray, leaving their hands entwined but breaking the connection against Ray's body. He kissed Ray hard, pressing close despite the awkwardness of the handhold, throwing his free arm around Ray's shoulders and using that vantage to deepen the kiss.

Ray's eyes opened very wide, then he clutched Ben with his free hand. His lips parted and he suckled Ben's tongue. Another moan, vibration without sound, rocked him. He released Ben's hand and used all ten fingers to rake through Ben's dark hair.

Now Ben moaned, rumbling. He slid to his knees, a slow glide, Ray's fingers still stroking firmly over his scalp. Fumbling with the buttons on Ray's jeans, he leaned into the heat. Muffled by cotton, his voice resonated through Ray. "I might have done this right there on the street, Ray. Where anyone could have seen us. Where anyone could have seen you. So beautiful. Ah." He gently untangled Ray from the coarse fabric, pushing the denim down only enough to uncover the rosy length of Ray's sex. Ray moaned again, fingers tightening, and his hips pushing just a fraction. Ben needed no further encouragement.

They swayed slowly, a rhythm unique to their courtship that shed the influence of neighbors' noise and city sounds. Ben wrapped his hands around Ray's buttocks, flexing and kneading his fingers in time to the pulse of Ray's hands through his hair. The firm muscles quivered their response to strong fingers contracting. The circle completed, the tempo adjusted incrementally, stroke by stroke, sway, thrust, release, respond.

Ray was keening a mantra of sighs and Ben's name. His hands slipped from the crown of Ben's head to just above the nape, fisting the short dark strands, an instinctive shiatsu. His legs trembled, fine control shredded, supported by the strength left in his arms and those of his partner.

Dizzy, Ben shut his eyes and lived through touch and the sound of Ray. His fingers worked the cadence Ray set, palms cupped, forearms bolstering Ray's welcome weight. One blunt fingertip brushed Ray's anus, and Ray gasped, every muscle from knee to nipple convulsing in response.

"Oh, God. Ben," he tried to warn, but choked on another gasp as Ben repeated the gentle touch. Ben hummed a reassurance, an oscillation that sent Ray instantly into orgasm, shouting and shaking, reluctant and ardent at once. Ben received this gift, this magnificent, extraordinary, remarkable largesse with proper devotion and awe. Humility and gratitude conflicted only slightly with satisfaction and the heady knowledge of sexual power.

Ben shifted to withstand Ray's boneless, graceful collapse, gentling his lover onto his lap, sitting back on his heels under their combined weight and Ray's lassitude. Ray dropped his head onto Ben's shoulder, only slightly uncomfortable by the way his jeans had twisted around his thighs and willing to endure the discomfort. Ben was less tolerant, aching for a release stymied by the cumbersome arrangement of fabrics and flesh.

He cradled Ray like an overgrown toddler and laid him back gently, protective and sweet. Ray smiled, eyes half-closed, and stretched provocatively.

Ben hesitated, trying to work out the fastest, most comfortable, least distracting combination of clothes and nakedness. Ray watched the wheels turning, a process normally too quick to be observed, and laughed.

"Pants off, Ben?" he teased. "I will if you will."

Ben frowned, thinking. "I was hoping for something quicker."

"It's the crotch thing that cramps a guy's style. You could just rip the ... no, don't go there. I've only got two decent pairs of ... whoa!" Ben didn't wait for Ray to finish speaking. He gripped the sturdy material constricting Ray's thighs and efficiently stripped the cloth footward, helped only marginally by Ray raising his hips but otherwise remaining prone. He popped Ray's boots off and drew each leg free, leaving the newly uninhabited apparel draped over his own lap.

Ray lay passively and let Ben manipulate him bottomless. Knees raised, one sock-clad foot on either side of his lover, he waited breathlessly for Ben's next move, enjoying the view.

Ben paused, considering. He unfolded gracefully, took off both boots, and shed jeans and boxers together, leaving them in an uncharacteristic tangle. Looking at Ray, sprawled and content on the floor, he smiled slowly but said nothing.

Ray's attention locked onto Ben's erection. Full and demanding, it mesmerized him for long moments. Entranced, his stare wandered slowly up, blue eyes regarding blue eyes, and he whispered, "What do you want, Ben?" He let his knees drop a little further open, and smiled when Ben was drawn to the movement, cock twitching. "Tell me what you want."

Ben had to swallow twice before he could speak. "I'll show you." He knelt between Ray's legs, then scooped Ray upright again in his arms, returning Ray to the cradle of his body.

Ray grinned wickedly, and put his lips close to Ben's ear. "Lap dance, Ben? Greatness. Let me get some leverage here a minute." He rested his full weight on Ben's thighs a moment, wriggling his legs from around Ben's waist to a more self-supporting position. Another wriggle slid him over Ben's cock, scrotum rubbing lightly across the rigid length. He chuckled. "Like this?"

Ben thrust once experimentally, abs and quads flexing smoothly. "No. Hold still." Ben covered Ray's hips with his hands and used that vantage to move the other man around his lap until he found a position he liked. Suitably arranged, Ben closed his eyes, found a rhythm and held hard to Ray as he bucked and thrust.

Ray leaned close and laid his head once again on Ben's shoulder. The Canadian concentrated on his own pleasure, his single-mindedness as intense in this pursuit as any other. Ray smiled to himself, then snatched a mouthful of creamy skin and sucked hard. The pace faltered, resumed, the tempo the same but with a stronger pulse. Ben was close. Ray raked his fingers from Ben's shoulders to the top of his head, dragging him around for a deep kiss, cupping his skull with both hands.

Fraser exploded, violent convulsions impressive for their strength and silence. Ray nearly lost his tongue on the first wave, as Ben's teeth snapped shut involuntarily. He held on a bit more cautiously through the remainder of release, gently nuzzling an ear and rubbing Ben's back in slow circles as he subsided.

Ben dropped an apologetic kiss on Ray's smiling mouth and hugged him hard, smearing them more thoroughly together. Ray caught a lip in his teeth and bit down very gently. Ruefully, he muttered, "Notes to self: First, lose the clothes at the door. Check. Second, no kissing while climaxing. Check."

"Sorry, Ray."

"Yeah, yeah." He stopped teasing because Ben tensed. "S'okay. Just not an injury I'd like to explain, y'know? Hey, you really get that hot just from holding hands?"

Fraser blushed, and tried to deflect the subject. "I made a mess on your shirt, Ray. I'd better rinse it out before it stains."

"It won't stain, Fraser," Ray grumbled, but obediently stripped off his shirt and handed it to Ben. Naked now except for his socks, Ray dragged himself only as far as the sofa, and smilingly asked his lover's retreating backside, "How come you didn't worry about stains on the couch last night?"

The beauteous backside halted its progression, but didn't turn. The frontside replied mildly, if somewhat nonsensically, "You'd lose more arguments if you weren't right so often." And dropped the soggy rag to the floor.

Relentless, Ray asked again, "Holding hands really does it for you? That's good to know, I guess. If holding your hand gets you that worked up, I wonder what you'd do if I pinched your butt?"

Motionless, Ben replied, "I'm showering, Ray. Join me?"

"Whoa, THAT good? Can't look at me, have to change the subject good? Greatness!" With immense satisfaction, Ray smirked, "Now I know how to distract you."

"Ray Kowalski, don't you dare think pawing me in public is any sort of acceptable behavior." Startled by his own vehemence, Fraser stopped.

Ray looked up, amused. "Now you sound like Frannie."

"Actually, I think that may have been my grandmother. Granddad got a bit fresh once in awhile." Fraser smiled, reminiscing. Then he tipped his head slightly to one side and, ominously light, asked, "When would Francesca have had occasion to reprimand you for taking liberties?"

Ray blushed, a rare occurrence that pinked his ears and bent his attention to the floor. He looked adorable, but Fraser wasn't ready to tell him so. Instead, he asked the next reasonable question. "And are Ray and the Lieutenant aware of your behavior, or Francesca's response?"

Ray's color deepened, almost answer enough. "It was just after I got back. We'd all gone out for a few getting-reacquainted beers, and I got a little too reacquainted with Frannie's fanny." He laughed. "I really did it more to annoy Vecchio than anything else. It worked, too, except that Frannie and Welsh were both just as cranked as Ray. Took weeks for Frannie to forgive me."

"And so it should have."

"Nah, not for the feelup. She got over that right away. She stayed mad because I told her it wasn't personal, that I was trying to yank Ray's chain. She didn't appreciate that," Ray mused. "And I was in Welsh's bad books forever."

"Not half as long as you'll be in my 'bad book' if you fondle either Francesca or me."

Suddenly mischievous, Ray wiggled his eyebrows and laughed. "That mean I can cop a feel off Vecchio? He'd have a heart attack."

"Not before he maimed you in a way I'd regret." Ray winced. Fraser looked thoughtful. "Lieutenant Welsh might not mind, he seems a very open-minded sort." Ray choked. "And the other Detectives could be most receptive, but I suggest a strong carbolic wash after contact with Detective Dewey. His personal hygiene is appalling."

Ray howled and tried to silence Fraser by rushing in for a tackle. Fraser slipped away, laughing. In moments, Ray was chasing a scampering Fraser around the entire apartment, whooping loudly. There wasn't much scope in the small space, but the kitchen island allowed a bizarre sort of naked tag. Ray scrambled across the linoleum, socks slipping wildly. Round about they chased, merrily intent. Ray lost ground every time they crossed the tile until Fraser caught him from behind and claimed forfeit.

Only then did they notice the knocking. Someone was at the door. Ray looked helplessly at Fraser, who shook his head and shrugged.

Hoping desperately that whoever stood outside the door wouldn't need to come in, Ray cast about for something to cover himself. Fraser solemnly handed him the Canadian's own boxer shorts, salvaged from a pile on the floor. Ray made a face, but struggled quickly into the garment. Fraser collapsed on the sofa in silent glee, totally undone by Ray's ridiculous appearance.

Ray unlocked the door, but left the chain. "Who is it?"

"Mrs. Croft, from downstairs. I don't know what you're doing in there, and I don't care. But it's late, Mr. Kowalski, and decent folks are trying to sleep. Could you keep it quiet?"

"Sorry. We'll keep it down. Goodnight, Mrs. Croft." Ray kept his composure until he met Fraser's eyes. The both dissolved into giddy laughter, setting each other off with much shushing and ineffectual hand-waving.

At last, they lay entwined on the sofa, the occasional chuckle erupting like a hiccup from one or the other. Fraser sighed contentedly. He stroked Ray's arm slowly, too firm to tickle, too light to hurt. Ray's skin had cooled, moist from their various forms of play, and he was getting clammy. With another sigh, Fraser knew they'd have to move.

"Ray? Ray? Ray!" Fraser chanted the name, half endearment, half conjuration. He twitched when Ray rubbed his ear over a quiescent nipple and smiled.

"That sounds so cool. Say something else." Ray pressed his cheek to Fraser's chest.

"Shower. Bed. Sleep. In that order."

"Say my name again."

"You aren't listening to me."

"I'm listening, Frase. That's why my ear's up against your lungs. Say my name."

"You're incorrigible," Fraser scolded, then rumbled as deep in his chest as he could, "Rrrrrrrray."

Ray laughed and sat up slowly. "Bath. Bed. Right. I'm all over that, or I would be if I could stand up."

Fraser levered himself upright, and held an arm out to Ray. Ray contemplated him curiously for a moment, remembering the last time Fraser offered his hand. Fraser met his eyes and turned a lovely pink. The hand didn't waver.

Ray let Fraser pull him up and they staggered together to the bathroom. He bent to remove his socks. Fraser checked for soap and towels, never a sure thing in his experience. Ray's posture made him light-headed, and he paused, torso swinging down from the waist. Ray's posture made Fraser light-headed, but he sternly abjured those thoughts and merely adjusted the water pressure and temperature to Ray's preferences. Ray continued to struggle with his socks.

"Ray, let me help you." Wet, wide fingers on his calf, steadying him. Ray let Fraser complete his undress and guide him quietly under the shower spray. He tried to wake up, to participate in the thorough soaping and careful rinsing, but Ben shushed him and he relaxed. He roused enough to pass a cloth over Ben's back, more a lick and a spit than thorough decontamination. The thought of licking Ben's back made him smile.

Fraser shut the water off and used the largest of the towels to envelop Ray. Patting him dry, Fraser hoped the activity and lulling warmth would thwart any nightmares Ray might have.

The sheets weren't pristine, but they'd do. Ray allowed himself to be wrapped in flannel pajamas, an unusual concession, and burrowed deep under the blankets without reaching complete wakefulness. Fraser opened a window, flinching at the increased noise, and quickly dressed for bed. Seeking Ray under the coverlet, he was asleep.

The first nightmare woke him well before Ray shuddered and cried out, eyes wide but unseeing. Ben gathered the twitching body, crooning softly, and rocked Ray like a child, drawing slow, wide patterns on the quivering flesh.

Once Ray had settled somewhat, Ben asked, "What do you remember?"

Ray hesitated before he replied. "Nothing."

He was lying.

"Nothing at all?" The smooth, soothing circles never faltered, and his voice reflected only concern.

"Not a thing. Dark. I got scared. I woke up." Ray was silent for a moment, relaxing under Ben's hands. He pushed himself away from comfort, rolling out of bed. "This is gonna go on all night. I'll sleep on the sofa. Man, it's cold in here!"

"I opened a window," Fraser replied automatically. "Come back to bed."

"No, you don't need me waking you up every twenty minutes. I'll be fine out there."

"I'll still hear you."

"Then I'll sleep in the car," Ray snapped, shifting from one cold foot to the other. "I'll get a motel room. I'll sleep in the lockup. You don't have to do this."

"I want to do this. Come back to bed."

"No. It's not your problem, Fraser. You can't fix it and you shouldn't have to deal with it." Ray started hunting for jeans and a shirt.

"Is that because I'm not responsible for your happiness, Ray?"

Ray groaned. "That's it, I'm never telling you anything ever again."

Fraser tossed aside the bedclothes and caught Ray around the waist. They struggled, but Ray's wiry strength was no match for a determined Mountie. After a few moments, he stood quietly encircled, already shivering from the chill in the room.

He mumbled truculently, "You don't have to stay."

"I know," Ben murmured, searching for the right words. "I'm not obligated to stay, I choose to stay. I'm not responsible for your happiness, but I'd like to think I contribute to it. You don't need me. You're fine on your own. But I like being with you; I want to be with you. I choose to be with you, if you'll allow me that choice."

"Even when I'm a mess?"

"Even so."

"You're a freak, Fraser."

"Understood. Come to bed." Fraser led Ray, unresisting, to the jumbled bed, smoothed sheets and pillows into a tidier nest, and tucked his lover in. Laying down himself, he settled a careful distance from Ray, and snaked one hand soothingly onto the tangled limbs. Sleep swamped him, but he refused to succumb to its call until Ray sighed and began to snore lightly. Only then did he allow himself to answer.

Another dark dream, another denial. Thrashing elicited comfort, winding slowly into sleepy petting that held more warmth than heat. Words in the night, spoken as much to themselves as each other, the musings of exhaustion.

"Ben?"

"Hmmm?"

"You ever live with anybody before?"

"My parents. Grandparents. I lived in barracks during training."

"No. I mean live with somebody as an adult, somebody you're sleeping with."

"Ah. No."

"Doesn't it bother you, being on your own all the time?"

"I haven't really considered the subject, Ray. I suppose not. I've always lived alone, as an adult that is."

"Until Stella kicked me out, I never lived alone. Went right from my folks' house to hers. Ours. That was almost the hardest part, learning how to be on my own. Not that the rest of it was easy, but being alone was, I don't know, scary I guess."

"You've adjusted beautifully."

"Yeah, well, only on alternate days with an R in 'em. Thing is, I spent a lot of time trying to find somebody to be with, because I couldn't stand being alone. Big time loser desperation, which sucked to live through but I'm really happy about it now. It was such a turnoff that nobody wanted to put up with my sorry self. I finally figured out that I was only getting involved because I wanted to wake up to somebody else's morning breath, y'know?"

An odd thing to confess. Even stranger, considering the confessor, and the confessional. Ben measured absolution carefully. "I'm not sure I do. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that when I got home from the Franklin gig, I decided it was time to try being a grownup for awhile. Quit looking for somebody else to take care of me, somebody to be" he paused a beat and they recited together, "responsible for my happiness."

They laughed quietly. Ray resumed, "Anyway, now you're here, and that's great, but I'm a little worried I'll slip back into that sorry loser mode. You're so good, and I could get real used to this."

"I like looking out for you."

"Makes you happy?"

"Well, yes."

"That mean, if I let you take care of me like you've been, that I'm responsible for your happiness?"

"Something like that."

"Good. About time I was responsible for something."

Ben was too enervated to protest this fallacious self-criticism, or the attitude that gave rise to it. He filed it for future discussion, at some time when they weren't quite so worn down. Ray burrowed against him before dropping once more into a light, dream-haunted slumber.

Forty-five minutes later, a third nightmare. Another denial. More words spoken in the drowsy darkness.

"Do you ever get lonely? Living on your own and all."

"Of course. But not because of my living arrangements." Fraser thought a moment. "I never noticed being lonely before I met Ray. Not that my loneliness was his fault, or that I wasn't lonely before then, I just never recognized it until I'd been around him for awhile. Loneliness is what encourages us to seek the company of others, and I'd never felt that need."

"Until you met Vecchio."

Fraser chose his reply carefully. "Until I realized that there were people I wanted to be around, people whose company I enjoyed, people who were willing to include me in their lives if I could only make the effort to include them in mine. The funny part is, once I did make that effort I wasn't lonely anymore. Or as lonely, anyway."

"Until he went undercover, and you got stuck with me." Faint bitterness clung to the memory, still.

"I never got stuck with you, Ray. I behaved very badly at first, but that wasn't your fault. Once the circumstances were explained, I think we both had adjustments to make. I was profoundly grateful to be partnered with someone as understanding, competent, and streetwise as you."

Ray huffed a short laugh. "Musta been some other guy, Frase. I was screwed up six ways from Sunday, so bad even I knew it."

"I wasn't exactly, umm, 'unscrewed' myself, Ray."

"Heh. Right. That's why you call a guy 'understanding' when the first thing he does is call you a freak."

"An accurate, if somewhat blunt, assessment. In many ways, I am a freak. You understood that." Fraser smiled, pleased with the conversational turn. He could work with this. "You understood, and you were confident enough to say to my face what other people only thought, or whispered when they didn't know I could hear them. I've always envied your courage, Ray."

"Huh?" Ray rolled into Fraser's embrace, the dim illumination from the streetlights washing his incredulous face in pallid shades. "You're the guy who takes on gun wielding axe-murderers with nothing but an oh-shoot-me-now uniform and a smile."

"That's just physical courage. A quality we share, I think. You've certainly put yourself in harm's way for others before. But you also have emotional courage, something I lack."

"What are you talking about?"

"What you said to me earlier about betting on a sure thing. I weigh risks carefully, then I make a choice. I'm cautious, sometimes too cautious. Physical risks are easier to assess, there are fewer unknowns to calculate. You aren't afraid to be vulnerable, to take emotional risks that I can't."

"Has it occurred to you that I'm just too stupid to duck?"

"Oh." Ray could almost hear the gears grinding. "I don't think so. Although forgetting to duck might account for some occasions. I was thinking more about how many times you've moved first, how you don't wait to be approached. You're strong enough to take those risks. I admire that."

"Thanks, I think."

"I think it's one of the things I like best about you. You're fearless, physically and emotionally. That, and your straightforward honesty."

If not-sound could have weight, the silence from Ray's side of the bed would have bent the Hollywood frame and sent the mattress crashing through the floor. "You're a sneaky bastard, Fraser."

"In what way?" Too reasonable. Too mild.

"I lied to you about the dreams. The nightmares. I lied about 'em. You knew that."

"I see."

"No, no you don't. They aren't about the case. They're about me. And you. And Vecchio. You really don't want to know the sick things that go through my head after hours." He pushed himself up, away from forgiveness. "I don't like what my brain dreams about. It's bad stuff."

"Ray, dreams are often symbolic. Just because you dream frightening things about people familiar to you doesn't mean you wish them harm. Tell me what you dreamed." Fraser reached, offering shelter and safety with thoughtless ease, too perfect to be rehearsed.

Ray resisted comfort; he wanted to yield but didn't deserve the consolation it would bring. He expected more insistence from his partner, but he was left to struggle along without aid. Fraser waited, quietly expectant.

Ray sighed and slipped limply into Fraser's arms. He'd won. Or lost. Or both. Difficult to know, really, in a battle with yourself. Oh, man, it was really late and he was really losing it.

Gentle prompting from beneath him set Ray's mental trolley back on its rail. "Dreams about me, and you, and Ray ...?"

"And Stella, and snow, and rooms with no doors." Ray spoke to Fraser's sternum, letting the Canadian's exceptional hearing do its thing. "It's different stuff, but the same dream. Which is weird in itself, right? I mean, dreams that're trying to tell you something are the same dream repeated over and over until you get it, right?"

"Not always. Sometimes dreams are memories, and sometimes they're fantasy. Some dreams are just the detritus from the day's events, a byproduct of some poorly understood mental processes. Sometimes dreams are a way of making sense of the randomness of reality."

Ray vibrated, not quite laughing. "I'm so tired you're making sense. I mean, I get that whole 'randomness of reality' thing. Tell me that again some time when I'm awake, see if I still recognize it, 'kay? "

"Yes, Ray."

"Okay, okay. First, there's Stella and Vecchio and me. That one I've had a couple of times. They're together, and I'm looking in through a window, like. It's like they've got everything I ever wanted, and they're warm and happy and all sparkly-like. And I'm sitting in the snow, in the dark, all by myself and I can see them but none of what they have is reaching me. And she's looking at him the way she used to look at me, and I'm dying inside." Strong arms settle over him, squeezing. "It's okay, Frase. I haven't felt that way in a long time. Not when I'm awake, anyway. Stella doesn't look at Vecchio that way either. But in the dream, that's how it was. And that's how I felt. But then Vecchio looks up and he sees me. He says something to Stella, and she smiles at him. She smiles at me, and waves, all happy-happy. He comes out to where I am, to the cold, dark

place, and he doesn't say anything. He just looks at me, and at Stella, and back at me. He moves, and I feel this burn. I never even see the knife. And he goes back inside to her, and they're laughing and dancing and I can't stand up anymore. When I put my hands out to hold myself up, all the blood and stuff covers the window. I can't see 'em any more, 'cause of the blood, but I can hear 'em, and I'm cold and scared and bleeding and none of it makes any sense. He has everything, I've got nothing. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know, Ray. It's your dream."

"Thank you, Dr. Freud. Forget it, this isn't going to help." The warmth, the contact, the flannel were suddenly too much, too close, too warm. Ray tried to withdraw, peevish then frantic when his struggles only drew him deeper into Fraser's concerned embrace.

"Ray. Ray. Ray! RAY!"

"WHAT?" Ray had to stop thrashing to make a reply. Instantly, he was released. Great. A partner who thinks like a giant Chinese finger puzzle. Greatness.

"What's wrong?"

"I need some air." The sheets were tangled around them, blankets pinned them together like a couple of bratwurst in cellophane.

"Ray, calm down." Sensing at last that frustration had turned to claustrophobic panic, Fraser tried to encourage Ray back into equilibrium.

"I need air, Fraser." Ray tussled with the bedclothes, hardly noticing the bruises he gave Fraser in his struggles.

"I've got air, Ray." Ray's head snapped around, nearly blackening Fraser's eye. "I've got plenty of air. I'll share, if you'd like?"

"Mmph." Ray fastened his mouth on Ben's and inhaled. Fraser let himself be emptied, then respired through his nose, using his soft palate to channel his breathing. Ray took a half-dozen deep breaths, never breaking the seal of their lips. He quieted, a little dizzy from the recycled respiration, and brought the interlude to an end with a sigh.

He nibbled gently on Ben's lower lip and nuzzled his chin, no longer worried about air or anything else. "Right. Sorry there, Frase. Got a little freaked. The other dreams, right?"

"Right."

"Okay. Good. Yeah. We're at the 2-7, you and me. That's another one. And we're working, and we're talking, and every time I look at you, you're looking away. At Vecchio. And he's smirking at me and blowing kisses at you. Which, by the way, is really disgusting. And I'm getting madder and madder, and you don't notice. You're supposed to be with me, but he's always in the way. Vecchio, I mean. And I try to reach you but he keeps getting in between us. I can't get near you." Ray took a deep breath. "So I shoot him. Just boom! He's bleeding and falling and I'm really glad I wiped that stupid look off his face. And I look for you because I know you'll fix things, but you were behind him. The bullet goes through him and into you. I'd never do that, Frase. I mean, I might take a swing at the guy, but I wouldn't shoot him. Not my style."

"I know, Ray. Discharging a firearm on duty engenders an unpleasant amount of paperwork at the best of times."

"Hardy-har, smartass. Maybe you should direct my dreams. They'd end up being comedies, and I might start to like sleeping again."

"Anything else?"

Ray shifted. He considered lying. Discarded it. The Mountie would know, the Mountie always knew, and he didn't like lying to Fraser anyway.

He faced away from Fraser, felt Ben wrap around his back, spooning. Smiled at the kiss that tickled his neck, the quiet steadfast heart that was pressed so close. Took a breath. "Yeah. One more. I'm following some tracks in the snow and feeling pretty good. You taught me good, and this is easy stuff. New snow, fresh tracks, and the only bad part is they're your tracks and I can't seem to catch up. Me and snowshoes never really did get along, y'know? Anyway, I follow these easy, clear tracks through this beautiful snow, and it's night but there's a big moon and I can see everything real good. And there's a house, more a cabin, only it's like a box with no doors and it's up off the dirt, so it's like this log box with just windows, and there's a light on and the tracks go straight up to the biggest window." Ray rushed on, as afraid to stop as he had been to start.

"So I march on up and knock. Rap, rap, rap. The sound is muffled from my gloves, but I can hear somebody moving around in there. The window-thingy opens up, and it's Stella. She's got this apron on, and it's all bloody. I can see inside the room, and Vecchio's inside, reading a newspaper or something stupid like that. I ask Stella about you, and she just shrugs. I need to keep looking. But the tracks end at the door or whatever. I go all the way around, and there's nothing else. I'm not that bad at tracking, hell, nobody could be that bad, so I go back to the box and I look inside."

Ray shuddered, and the reassuring hug he received only deepened his dread. "It's bad, Frase. Really bad. I don't want to think about it, talk about it. It's really bad."

"It might help, Ray. You might stop having this dream if you talk about it. Just remember, it's only a dream. There's nothing in it that can hurt you, or anyone you love. Please, Ray, let me help you."

"Heh. Okay, but only because I don't want to see this stuff in my head any more. Real life is bad enough. Hang on, buddy." Fraser wrapped himself tighter around Ray, braced for anything.

"I look in the window, and you're inside. On a table, all bloody, with knives sticking out." Ray's stomach lurched and he fought for control. "And Stella, she's the one with the knives. All casual, she'd pick up a blade and just stick it in you every time she walked past. And Vecchio's still reading the paper. Like he doesn't see her doing this. Like he can't smell the blood. Oh, God." Ray started rocking, clutching Fraser's hands desperately. "I go to the door, and I'm screaming and pounding and the window-thing opens and Vecchio's standing there and I'm trying to get past him only I'm not going forward. I'm running, but you're still on the other side of the room and Stella's got this box opened up on the floor. And a knife. A big one, like a cleaver, God, and she's, she's, Fraser she's, I can't. I can't. Please, God, Frase, it's so bad. I know I should tell you, but it's so wrong."

"Shhhhh, Ray. Hush. It'll be alright. Just tell me, it'll be alright." Fraser held his shaking partner, awed by the raw courage held in the sobbing form.

"She's got this knife, and she's putting you in the box, a little bit at a time. And I can't make her stop, I can't get over there. Vecchio's standing in front of me, and he's acting like there's nothing wrong. Just as Stella gets done, Vecchio slings his arm around my shoulders and that somehow lets me move. I run at her, screaming, but she saw Vecchio put his arm around me and she saw me start to move. She hits me with the cleaver and I fall into the box. There's no way I could fit in this box, but I do. I'm in the box full of, I'm in the box with you and, no offense but I don't even like being around whole dead people I don't know, I'm freaking out and Stella looks right at me and says 'new arrivals' or something. I can't hear her good because I'm screaming so loud my eyeballs hurt. And then she shuts the box." Ray took an uncertain breath. "I hate being in boxes. I hate dead people. I'm drowning in dead Mountie parts in a little tiny box and then I wake up."

Fraser asked the first question that occurred to him. "New arrivals?"

"Something like that. Or 'no rivals' maybe. 'Norrival'? Like the TV chick, maybe. Doesn't make much sense, in any case."

"That's the only time anyone speaks to you, in any of the dreams?"

"I think so. The only time I can halfway hear it, anyway. Why? Is that important?" Ray was distracted from the memory of bloodied serge by a potential answer to the puzzle.

"I don't know, Ray. I don't know what your subconscious is trying to tell you, or why the dreams change. Maybe there's some parallels between the people in your dreams and the people in the case." Fraser gently rubbed Ray on the abdomen, soft circles that eased his quivering stomach.

Ray sighed, pressing into the hand on his belly, arcing softly. "But you think they're definitely connected, right? I'm not just coincidentally going nuts?"

"I think they're connected. Maybe something will occur to you now that your conscious and unconscious have met, so to speak. In the mean time, is there anything I can do to help you sleep?" Fraser ran his hand along Ray's side, "A backrub, or some warm milk?"

Ray rolled onto his stomach, arms raised, and mumbled into his shoulder. "No milk, remember? Shoulda stopped at the market when I had a chance, there won't be anything open today."

"Backrub then?"

"Mmm. Sure. Knock yourself out." Ray tried to relax under Ben's gentle kneading, but the manipulation flushed his tawny skin. Soon, he was too warm to be comfortable.

"Fraser?"

"Hmmm?"

"Lemme up." Fraser promptly unstraddled and moved away, waiting. Ray pulled the pajama top over his head and threw it on the floor, followed immediately by the bottoms. "Too hot. Can't breathe. Start again."

"Turn over."

"Nah. Do the front. I want to watch." Ray's sly smile glowed in the dimness, all teeth and challenge. He stretched, arms straining, and settled his hands behind his head to get a better view. Or maybe to give a better view.

Fraser pretended to be outraged. "Backrubs are for backs. There's no such thing as a frontrub, Ray." The slow smile gave him away.

Ray just beamed wider. "Try it. C'mon, mount up like before and get started. I'm getting older by the minute here. You might want to lose the jammies though, Fraser. They're cute and all, but my notes from earlier say the clothes go."

"I thought that was ... oh. Ah. I see." Ben unbuttoned the union suit, starting at the neck and working down quickly. He made no attempt to be seductive or flirtatious, but Ray couldn't stop staring, a tiny smile just barely turned up the right corner of his mouth. The coolness of the room peaked two pairs of nipples, but didn't account for Ray's sudden shiver.

"Yeah. That's good. Mmmmm. You know, Frase, I bet you give a really good front rub."

"Hmmm?" Fraser gently lowered himself across Ray's hips, careful of what he'd heard Maria's children call 'dangly bits', although the particular bits at risk weren't nearly as dangly as they'd been a few moments before.

Ray shifted, muscles smoothly contracting, aching for a touch. Ben leaned, hovered, warm dry hands breaking the electric arc of Ray's need. Ray tried to watch, wanted to watch, wanted to see the slow glide of callused fingers over his own skin. Wanted to watch the way Ben's eyes changed focus, the heated blush work its way from the soles of Ben's pallid feet to his pale cheeks, his breathing easy but more deliberate than at rest. Wanted, but couldn't. Tried, but couldn't. Every long stroke of those beautiful weathered hands, every deft touch over sensitive muscles, every calculated bypass of navel, nipples, nuts made his eyes close and lifted his ribcage to concentrate the feel of skin on skin. Concentrate it, distill it, keep it in a jar by the bed for lonely nights.

He could feel Ben move, wanted to see him press his tongue to his lower teeth in anxious thought, wanted to see the desire he knew Ben kept carefully controlled even when they were together. Even together like this. Before he could find the energy to act, the coordination to fire synapses in some useful order, he was being stroked, no, squeezed, no, caressed. Firmly. Enveloped by broad, muscled hands kneading resolutely up and down both sides from armpit to flank. Thumbs raking over aureoles, over the pinched buds at their centers. Thumbs meeting to scrape his navel. He moaned. Tried to spread his legs, but they were confined between Ben's thighs. Unrelenting hands slid up and down, again and again dragging over responsive flesh.

Ray's lips parted, and the instinctive search for oxygen created a powerful image of seductive need. The hands faltered, and Ray managed to open his eyes.

Ben was staring, tongue tip barely protruding against white teeth, at Ray's panting mouth. His eyes flicked to meet Ray's, but were immediately drawn away when Ray wetted his lips, prepared to speak.

"Let me suck you." Tight coiled trepidation, passionate and terrified, sunk itself deep into Ray's guts. Ben wanted this. He wanted, but wouldn't ask. Ray would ask for him, would give him even the things he didn't dare ask for himself.

Ben's eyes dropped away entirely, focused on the wall, the clock, the rug. "You don't have to," he said, but that only confirmed Ray's determination.

"I want to. And you want me to. So, let me try." Ray moved his head to capture Ben's attention, then craftily rolled his tongue over his lips. "Just scoot up here and we'll see how it goes."

"If you're sure." Doubt and hope combined in Ben's voice, just before it cracked on the last word and he laughed nervously.

"I'm sure already. Slide up some more." Ray uncurled his arms from behind his head, frowning at the slight ache. He snagged one of the pillows and shoved it under his head, wondering whether the angle would help or hinder. The rest of his body was comfortable, all tingly, and he'd rather not move. He'd rather not choke, either, but now was not the time to be thinking that thought so he pushed it away.

Now that his eyes were open, Ray couldn't seem to blink. From his perspective, there was a very large, very dark, very hard dick in the foreground and a very quiet, very worried, very excited Fraser in the background. He eyed the foreground subject dubiously. Fraser may have taken to this oral activity with aplomb and not a little natural talent, but Ray wasn't in the same league and knew it.

He decided on a roundabout approach, and looked up for reassurance. Ben's eyes were huge, the Big-Eyed Mountie Look with nearly forty years of fantasies behind it. Ray nervously licked his lips, then ran a tentative tongue up the swollen shaft. Ben swayed, fighting for balance, but his eyes never left Ray's face.

Ray took a moment to work up some spit. His mouth was arid. He tilted his head forward for another long tongue-lashing, exploring the textures of blood-flushed skin and the feel of slippery precum. Not so different in taste than Stella's arousal, really. He tried to get a better angle, and wished his hands hadn't gotten somewhat inconveniently pinned under Ben's shins.

Curiosity overwhelmed his apprehension, and he pulsed his tongue gently over the shaft. Half-smiled when the pressure set the whole rig shaking, then realized Ben's whole body was suffering tremors and his balls had almost disappeared. Whoops. He looked up quickly, locked eyes with his startled partner, and caught the first stream of ejaculate on the roof of his open mouth.

Surprised, he jerked his face back and the second spurt splashed his right cheek, dripping uncomfortably into his ear. Ray turned his head the other way, to clear his ear, and momentarily lost track of, well, everything as a mental picture of his current situation slammed him home.

He bucked Ben forward with the first spasm, getting a nostril full of sticky penis for his efforts, and sent him completely off to the side with the second. Cross-eyed and unsuccessfully trying to remember his name, the first thing that made sense was a hot, wet tongue swiping long strokes from his chin to his right eye.

"Dief?"

The tongue stopped, and Ray - his name was Ray, right? groaned in disappointment. He wasn't normally big on wolf slobber, but this felt nice. A second later, he remembered.

"Sorry, Fraser," he mumbled. Is it worse to call your lover by an ex's name, or mistake him for his deceased pet wolf?

The face washing resumed, with the lovely tongue working its way around to all the crinkly bits of his ear. Between lavations, Ben murmured, "It's alright, Ray. I wasn't entirely sure myself for a moment." A few slurps later, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Incredulous, Ray's eyes snapped open. "For what? That was great."

"I wasn't, well, very controlled. When you looked at me, I couldn't help myself."

"Huh?"

Ben closed his eyes. He spoke slowly, in carefully measured tones. "You wanted to fellate me. I climaxed prematurely, denying what you requested. It was inconsiderate, and for that I apologize."

It took Ray a full minute to decipher the Fraser-ese and transform Mountie-speak into plain American. He laughed. "You doofus. That was the best part. We've talked about this before. Remember? Jesus, Fraser, you are soooooo easy. I mean, I thought I was a sex-starved slut, but you get off on holding hands and somebody eyeing your cock. From an inch away, true, but still, that is so cool."

Ben went very quiet. Ray pressed on, daunted but sincere. "Look, Frase. I wanted to fillet you or whatsis because I wanted to get you off. Make you cum. You did that, and I hardly even touched you. All I had to do was get you thinking about it, and you popped your cork. And you only came like a second or two before I did, so don't go thinking that's early, 'cause that'd hurt my manly feelings."

He couldn't help it. Ben chuckled and relaxed. "Well, we can't have that. Ray, are you sure you aren't disappointed with our lovemaking?"

"Disappointed? Hell, if I got any more 'appointed' I'd need a chiropracter. Hey, you want to do something for me?"

"Anything," Ben replied promptly.

"Slide over and hold still." Fraser lay face-down on the coverless bed obediently. Ray moved to crouch over him and continued to talk casually, gently skimming his hands over Ben's back. "I was thinking this in the shower before, but I didn't do anything about it. Well, I was thinking back, really. Close enough. I figure if you can clean me up, then I can do this." And he licked at the milky dew spattered over Ben's buttocks.

Fraser gasped. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning you up, Frase. What's it feel like I'm doing?" Ray thought a terribly mischievous thought and acted on it directly. He licked a nice damp spot, then pressed his lips to the spot and sucked, wriggling his tongue against the smooth skin. Ben twitched but remained silent. Ray licked another spot, a little closer to the center line, and blew gently on the site. Ben groaned.

Ray contemplated other lascivious acts, but the late hour and plans for the coming day weighed against it. Another day, another chance to play. He patted his recent playground and rolled out of bed.

"I'll get a cloth," he said to the back of Fraser's head.

"Mmmmm."

A quick pee and a warm washcloth later, Ray dove back under the pile of blankets he'd retrieved while Fraser was Unionizing. Re-Unionizing? Somehow, he wasn't worried about the nightmares any more, and relaxed almost immediately into blessedly dreamless sleep, curled around Fraser's fist.

Full daylight and the smell of waffles pulled him to the surface of wakefulness. Ray started his early morning stretch and scratch, realizing only then that he was alone in the well-used bed. He didn't remember there being waffles left in the house. Fraser probably grew a wheat field in the livingroom and domesticated some chickens and cows first thing this morning. He smiled, already planning how to build on last night's activities.

Ray slipped on a ratty robe and dug dusty slippers out of the back of his closet. He wondered briefly if he could convince Fraser to breakfast on him instead of waffles, and the many possible uses of maple syrup made him consider leaving the robe unbelted. The decidedly Arctic temperature nixed that happy thought. He closed the window, pulled the robe decently shut, and stepped jauntily out of the bedroom.

And nearly walked straight into his mother, who'd bent down to slip the hangers holding several newly ironed dress shirts over the doorhandle. "Oh, hello, sleepyhead. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Mum." Dutiful son took over automatically, and he gave her a peck and a one-armed hug to go with the greeting. "Where's Fraser?"

"Here, Ray. Just finishing that file we picked up last night." Fraser, for all that he was dressed in jeans and a white dress shirt, was in full Mountie mode. Disoriented, Ray looked around the room and noted that all their crumpled clothes had disappeared, everything was cleaned and straightened and neat as a pin. Except the sofa. It still bore signs of being slept on, and the casual disarray of the afghans confirmed that impression. Ray was speechless. He nearly choked when Fraser asked, politely but seemingly disinterested, "Did you sleep well?"

"Umm, yeah. Took a little while to get settled, but, yeah, once I dropped off I slept fine. You?"

"Well, thank you. The sofa is really quite comfortable."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven. Your mother arrived about an hour ago, and we agreed to let you sleep."

"You looked exhausted last night, Stanley," his mother said from behind him. "Your father and I were worried."

"Where is Dad?"

"He had some things to do this morning. He said not to worry, he'll see you later. Now sit down, dear, and have some breakfast." Mrs. Kowalski started to bustle around the kitchen, talking as she prepared a huge plate of waffles and set out sausages, butter, syrup, and jam. "I'm glad I brought a few things over when I came. There wasn't a crumb worth eating in the whole house. That isn't any way to treat your friends, you know, even if you eat nothing but takeaway and pizza. Benton isn't used to that. You could have bought a few groceries for him, pretended to take care of yourself for me. I know you don't look after yourself properly, but you really should be a little more considerate of your friends."

Ray let the familiar litany wash over him without comment. He filled a large mug with coffee, deciding for forego his usual sweetener to avoid another torrent of motherly advice, and sat at the table next to Fraser to await a breakfast packed with enough carbohydrates to fuel the Bears. He sipped the coffee and couldn't quite suppress a grimace.

Fraser watched him, pleasant, blank, detached. A stranger. Ray had an urge to slip his hand over Fraser's forearm, to connect this distant figure with the man who had reacted so wildly to the merest hint of physical intimacy. Reconsidered after reflecting that the very wildness he enjoyed was as unpredictable to Fraser as anyone. Fraser had obviously gone to considerable trouble to erase any sign of their more intimate relationship; provoking a response in front of his Mum would wreck all that effort and be an unkind shock to her. Knowing that didn't remove the temptation, only the impulse to act on it.

Off-guard, Ray wasn't prepared for the intensely possessive smile Fraser opened to him. He heard his mom, chattering away, but everything dropped away under Ben's white hot regard. Oh, the lover was still there, alright, under the starched shirt and casual friendship.

Fraser dropped his eyes, struggling to regain some control over his frantic pulse. He'd meant to reassure Ray, to show him that his indifference was feigned. He'd succeeded, perhaps, but at the same time he'd fallen into the maelstrom of passion instead of merely indicating it. The difference between pointing out a beautiful but dangerous landmark and inhabiting it. How did people reconcile the demands of their desire with the conventions of proper social behavior? He had the completely irrational notion to barricade Ray in the bedroom, keeping him captive, until a return to sanity or death by sexual exhaustion set them free.

Instead, he dismissed the whim with a strong conscious effort and willed himself back to the breakfast table. Ray looked a little alarmed, he'd probably seen more than his caffeine-deprived mind was ready to comprehend. Fraser tried to smile comfortingly, and made amends by slipping Ray a napkin with crushed chocolate candies he'd prepared earlier.

Ray smiled, rueful and grateful at once. "Thanks, Frase. You're amazing, know that? How'd you know, y'know?" He motioned at his coffee, watching the powdery residue melt into mocha.

"Ah, well, your mother's been telling me all sorts of interesting things, Ray. I simply interpreted some of those things with uncanny accuracy, that's all." Ray covered him in skeptical amusement. Blandly, Fraser withstood an onslaught of dubious looks, and continued, "As for the rest, I rarely sleep much past six and had time to straighten things up a bit. And read the Chapman file. When you're ready, there are a few things that occur to me. Regarding the case, that is."

Ray laughed and poured syrup on the sausages. Deliberately catching Ben's eye, he speared a link, licked the syrup, and began delicately nibbling the crisp casing. Intent on appearing provocative, he was startled by a gentle rap on the crown and his mother's admonition to not play with his food.

"Yeah, Mom. Sorry."

Fraser looked away, but he knew Ray could see the laugh behind his eyes. "What time are we supposed to be there today?"

"Stella told us that dinner's planned for four or four-thirty. She and Ray will be there all day, of course. She said Rosa was very excited, having all her boys home for dinner. She's very fond of you, Stanley. And you, too, Benton."

"Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Vecchio is one of the kindest, most generous women I know."

"Kind of amazing how she ended up with a son like Ray, huh?" Ray put in.

"Ray Vecchio has many of his mother's finest qualities, Ray. He's kind, generous, thoughtful, and hard-working." Fraser replied without heat. Old ground, a debate ongoing since Muldoon was arrested and it was possible for them to discuss absent friends.

"Frase, he collects free stuff to give out for Christmas."

"Thrift is a virtue, Ray."

"To his FAMILY, Fraser. You don't give cheapie free stuff to family. It may be thrifty, but it ain't generous."

"You're saying it's impossible to be both thrifty and generous? I disagree."

"He spends money on himself. On clothes. On that car. Classic, my ass. It's an ugly hunk of crap. That's not generous, or thifty."

"He also pays all the bills at home, including Maria's children's private school tuition. Tony hadn't held a full-time job in years until Ray set him up with that bowling alley. And paid to get them moved. Francesca has trained for several professions over the years. Ray either loaned her the money or paid for her schooling outright. She doesn't pay rent, just her share of the phone bill and a stipend for groceries."

"His mother won't let him make Frannie pay rent. I know you like the guy, hell, I like him too, but I think you're giving him more credit than he deserves here."

"And I think you've focused on trivia and missed the comprehensive picture."

"Boys. Boys! Please don't fight. This is supposed to be a good day."

Instantly contrite, Ray kissed his mother on the cheek. She patted him absently, already absorbed in cleaning away the breakfast dishes and tidying the kitchenette, waving off Fraser's attempts to help. "You'd better get dressed, Stanley. Your father will be here soon, and you know he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"I figured Fraser and me'd take the GTO, Mum. We'll meet you there. That's okay, right?" Ray looked from his mother to Fraser, searching for confirmation. Obviously, he couldn't remember whether they'd discussed any of this at dinner the night before.

"Oh, sweetheart. I thought we could all go together, as a family. We spend so little time together any more. I miss those nice drives we used to take."

"Mum, the last time we did that, I was seven." Wavering between exasperation and affection, Ray's protest sounded scornful to Fraser and he winced.

Mrs. Kowalski continued without any indication that she'd heard Ray, tone or content. "Honestly, dear, your father doesn't know these neighborhoods very well and I thought that you could keep us from getting all turned around. You know he won't ask directions."

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Kowalski, Ray and I need to make a few stops before supper," said Fraser, smoothly interposing before Ray could comment and upset his mother further. "Directions to the Vecchio house are quite straightforward from here. I'll write them down for you, with the Vecchio phone number."

"Uh, yeah, Mum. Places to go. People to see. You know how it is. I'll be ready to go in a half-hour, Fraser." Ray bounced to his feet, energy restored, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Fraser shook his head. Ray had only taken two quick gulps of coffee. The psychological effects of his morning ritual far outstripped the human digestive system. Dishes done, Mrs. Kowalski sat down next to Fraser, chipped mug containing the dregs of the coffeepot in hand. Silently, they sipped their morning beverages. Mrs. Kowalski, like her son, was incapable of remaining completely still for long.

By the time Ray emerged from the shower and stood, towel-clad, critically contemplating a vital fashion decision, Fraser had expended a days' worth of tact and Consulate-class diplomacy on the Kowalskis. He judged the effort worthwhile when he was rewarded with Ray's brightest smile.

He handed Ray the remains of his coffee, earning a more bashful sideways grin.

Gravely, Fraser said, "You could always wear that."

"A towel? You're completely deranged." Another addictive smile, this one from beneath lowered lashes. "My folks still here?"

"No. Your father said something about an opening kickoff and they hurried away. We're quite alone, Ray, and I must insist that that color is particularly fetching on you." Fraser settled his shoulder against the doorframe and watched delightedly as Ray's irrepressible energy and current good humor generated a suggestive shimmy that slid the scrap of absorbent cotton a few centimeters closer to the floor.

"Fetching? Makes me sound like a retriever, Frase. Khakis and the blue shirt? Is that dressy enough? You're going like that, right?"

"Yes. The Vecchio home is kept quite warm, too much so for another layer of clothing to be comfortable."

"Khakis it is, then." Unselfconsciously, Ray stretched into the closet with his mugless hand, allowing the towel to drop. Withdrawing the chosen garments, he laid them carefully on the rumpled bed, then wandered to the dresser to look for clean underwear. Fraser could have averted his eyes, but chose instead to enjoy the view. The naturalness of Ray's behavior was compromised slightly by the pinkish flush that warmed the nape of his neck and spread slowly over his ears, matching the suffusion of Fraser's features.

As Ray donned fresh socks, Fraser was reminded of an earlier conversation. "Your father met Mrs. Croft in the hallway this morning. He asked me what we were doing that disturbed the neighbors so late at night."

Ray nearly tipped over as he turned. "What did you tell him?"

"That we were discussing the most effective method of subduing a suspect and got carried away," Fraser said.

"Good thinking. Hey, how'd you know my Mom would come by?" Ray slipped into his trousers and rummaged through the dresser for a belt, fly half-zipped.

"I didn't know with certainty, Ray, but it's her habit, isn't it? I really was awake early this morning, and tidied up more for myself than anything. By the way, why don't you use that powdered chocolate mix in your coffee? It would dissolve much better, and not leave a sludgy residue."

"I like sludgy residue, Fraser. That's the best part. But I have used a little Swiss Miss when the situation calls for it. Or plain white sugar. Whatever's at hand, really. I like a little cocoa with my coffee." Ray started to shrug into his shirt and jumped a bit when a second pair of hands appeared to assist with the buttons.

"Mmmmm. Very nice, Ray. I didn't know you owned a silk shirt." A kiss dropped, feather-light, on the back of his neck.

"Stella bought it," Ray mumbled. "I didn't keep most of the stuff she bought me, not my style, but I liked these."

"Tie?"

"Nah. Nobody'd recognize me. Hey, Frase?"

"Hmmm?"

"I got to thinking in the shower. Gina Chapman said Carrie walked home, right?" Receiving a thoughtful nod, Ray continued, "But she also said that they didn't let Carrie walk home alone. And if Sarah Chapman was supposed to pick Carrie up at the school, shouldn't she have picked her up and driven her to the house?"

"Perhaps she was delayed?"

"Maybe. But Gina didn't say anything about her being late, or even seemed upset by Carrie walking home alone. Could be nothing."

"Or there's some simple explanation. But that was one of the questions I had, too."

"What were the others?"

Fraser frowned. "Did you get a check of the Chapman's phone record?"

"No, why?"

"Nothing, probably."

"Fraser, do not start with the 'nothing, probably' stuff. You'll be saying 'ah' in a minute, and you know that makes me nuts."

Fraser contemplated the obvious reply, but declined to be predictable. For once, he answered the question simply. "I merely wondered whether Gina called Sarah to make other arrangements. If Sarah came directly to the house. She wasn't observed outside the school in her usual spot, according to the crossing guard."

"That's not strong evidence, Frase. The crossing guard is a hundred years old and misses more than she hits, if you know what I mean. But we can check the phone records for a call, if you think that'll help." Threading his belt through the last loop, Ray smiled over his shoulder as Fraser fastened the buckle for him.

"Of itself, it means nothing, of course."

"Of course. Maybe we should take a little drive, and ask Mrs. Chapman a

couple questions?"

"An excellent idea."

Ray quickly shrugged into his holster and picked up a jacket on his way out the door. Once a decision was made, Ray acted with clean, elegant purpose. Fraser snatched up his Stetson and the case file and followed closely, concerned about being unwittingly left behind in the wake of Ray's sudden focus.

The ride was mostly silent, each man wrapped in his own thoughts. From the number of vehicles in the driveway, the Chapmans were entertaining more than a few family members. Ray rang the bell and impatiently fidgeted until he heard the lock drawn open.

"Mr. Chapman?"

"Yes, Detective?" The door opened slightly wider, but Mel Chapman blocked the space with his body. The smell of warmth and turkey poured from the house in mouthwatering waves. "I'd ask you in, but we have family here for dinner. Have you found Carrie?"

"No, sir. I'm afraid not. I'm sorry to disturb you on the holiday and all, but I'd really like to ask Mrs. Chapman a few more questions. Just a little confusion about details, you understand, nothing serious. It'll only take few minutes, then we'll get out of your hair."

"Not at all, Detective. I'm sure Gina will be glad to answer all your questions, if it might mean bringing Carrie home again. Come in, please, and go through to the kitchen."

"Mr. Chapman?" Fraser waited for acknowledgment. "You very kindly showed us around the house the other day, but I would be interested in seeing some of the less finished parts of the house. If you wouldn't mind?"

"Less finished?"

"Yes. I'm interested in building techniques, you see, and the materials and craftsmanship is most evident in those parts of the house that are not actually livable space. An attic, for example, or the basement." Plainly, he'd confused Chapman. And Ray was rolling his eyes, indicating either he had picked up an eyelash or he thought Fraser had once again gone off the deep end.

"The attic is hard to get to, Sergeant - Fraser was it? But I can show you the basement, if you like." Chapman shook his head in puzzlement. Then his expression cleared. He asked quietly, "You don't want me around while your partner questions Gina, is that it? I understand."

"Not at all, Mr. Chapman," Fraser replied. "I really do have an interest in the way modern homes are built. They're very different than the places I grew up, you see."

"Fraser was born in an igloo," Ray contributed helpfully.

"Conceived in an igloo, Ray. I was born in a barn. Nevertheless, the variation in human habitation is something of an interest of mine. If you'd lead on?" Fraser shepherded Chapman through the entryway, bestowing friendly smiles on the bemused guests. After shutting the door, Ray made politely submissive grimaces at everyone, having nowhere near Fraser's impact, and wound his way to the kitchen to ask his questions.

Clattering down the basement stairs, Chapman asked, "So, how does a Mountie end up looking at basements on Thanksgiving Day in Chicago?"

"Well, sir, I first came to Chicago to find my father's killer and for many reasons I stayed, as liaison with the Consulate here. I became a friend to Ray and his partner, also named Ray. After I was transferred back to Canada, we kept in touch. I manage to visit a few times a year. They're very understanding about my compulsion to do police work." As he recited the usual litany, Fraser inspected the cement-walled space around him. Toys were stacked neatly on utility shelves. A ping-pong table was folded and flat against one wall. A train set, much too advanced for a six-year-old girl, inhabited one section of the basement. Indicating it, he asked, "Is this yours?"

"Yes," Chapman smiled eagerly. Less enthusiastic, he continued, "I don't have many chances to work on it these days. Work's been crazy, and Gina and Carrie don't like me spending all my time down here."

"You haven't been down here recently, then? It's very tidy."

"Spent two nights a week down here at the start of the year, getting things cleaned up and put away. Took until May, but Carrie doesn't play down here much so there isn't much to get messed up. I probably haven't been down here since we put the patio furniture away last month."

The furnace was in the middle of the west wall. Behind it, to the south, was a Nesco cooker, the sump pump, and a large freezer. Fraser walked to the freezer. "May I?"

"It's only ice-cream and extra bread. Gina comes from a big family and buys groceries for a family of twelve. Go ahead."

The freezer was nearly empty, a few cartons of Meadow Gold Lite vanilla and Harvest Home wheat bread sharing space with three small packages labeled "ground beef" and six containers of Merkt's cheddar cheese spread. Unconsciously braced for the worst, Fraser relaxed slightly and started to breathe again.

"Mr. Chapman, do you store trash down here at all?"

"No. Why?"

"There's an odor here similar to the one from your trash the other day. I thought, perhaps, that you might keep the garbage out of the way down here until its collected?"

"No, we take it to the garage. You're right, though, I smell something, too."

"It may be coming from the sump pit. What's this?" Two-thirds up the wall behind the freezer was a small wooden door.

"Crawlspace under the kitchen. It made the floor pretty cold up there in the winter until we added more insulation."

"May I?"

"Sure, but there's no light. We don't use that space at all."

Fraser slid back the latch and opened the tiny plywood door. The smell intensified, gagging him. Without lights, it was difficult to assess the true dimensions of the space, but the height was less than a meter and he presumed it ran the length and width of the room above. Truly a place only tall enough to crawl through. The inadequate illumination that spilled over his shoulder into the cold, damp locale highlighted a pile of jumbled fabrics.

Hand over his nose, Mel Chapman looked over Fraser's shoulder. "That's strange. Gina must have put some old clothes or something in there. She should have laundered them first, though. They stink."

Slowly, Fraser turned to Chapman. "Do you have a ladder, or a stepstool, and a flashlight?"

"Well, yes, but ... "

"Mr. Chapman, I can't see the structures that interest me without a stool and a light." Typical of citybred folk to not recognize the smell of carrion. Fraser wondered briefly whether Chapmans' seeming innocence was an act, but the man's concerns and confusion were genuine. From his position in the opening, he could see a tiny sneaker, pink sock protruding, at the far end of his vision.

There was a flashlight hung on the furnace. Chapman brought a lawn chair from its mates in the far corner, snagged the flashlight on the way past, and handed both to Fraser. Ben steeled himself to endure closer contact with the source of the stench, and gave brief thanks that Ray had remained upstairs.

He looked at Chapman and suggested kindly, "Mr. Chapman, you might want to bring another of those chairs over here. Just set it up next to this one, if you would." Chapman was confused, but moved to comply. Fraser stood on the first chair, set the flashlight inside the door and lifted himself through the opening.

Sarah Chapman had been a beautiful woman. Even after being dead for a week, stuffed in a tiny hole under her ex-husband's house, and rotting from the inside, her beauty was undiminished by the harsh glare of the flashlight and the absence of her left temple. Prompted by duty and habit, Fraser felt unsuccessfully for a pulse and mourned a woman he'd never met.

Carrie's small form lay near her mother, and Fraser automatically sought her pulse also. Stunned, he noted the duct tape holding her wrists and ankles bound, the tape over her mouth, and the very, very slight movement of her ribs as she breathed.

"Sergeant, have you seen enough?" Chapman's curious voice startled Fraser and he tried to straighten, slamming his head against the ceiling joists in a way that would have been comical if done intentionally. From above him, he heard a shrill scream and Ray's voice, much louder than it had been.

Swallowing hard, he said steadily, "Mr. Chapman, please get away from the door. I'm coming out. I'm afraid I've found your daughter." He carefully dragged the little girl to the doorway and lifted her filthy, fragile body down.

Mel Chapman sat on the concrete floor of his home, head in hands, moaning. Decision made, Fraser gently laid Carrie on her father's lap, trying to soothe the distraught man with an unsteady voice. "Mr. Chapman, Carrie is alive. She's alive. I need to go upstairs and call for an ambulance, Mr. Chapman, and you have to stay here with Carrie. Talk to her, sir, tell her she's safe."

Chapman clutched his daughter tightly, pressing his tear-streaked face to her pale one. Rocking, he gave no sign of hearing Fraser until he started to whisper, "Shhhh, sweetie. Hush, now. Daddy's here. It'll be alright, Carrie. It's alright, punkin-girl."

Fraser left them and strode up the stairs, two at a time. The disturbance in the kitchen had subsided, shocked guests and family staring open-mouthed at Ray holding a disheveled Gina Chapman's arms to her sides. Ray met Fraser's eyes in wordless question.

"They were in the crawlspace." Ray's eyes shut and he turned his head away. Fraser continued, "We need an ambulance. Carrie's still alive." Ray's head snapped up in shock, but he wasn't able to speak over Gina Chapman's sudden shrieks. Furious, inhuman, she twisted in Ray's grasp and spit obscenities.

Ray's training covered his surprise, and he put his efforts into subduing the harridan in his hands. Fraser spotted the phone and made the first of several necessary calls, using Ray's name as authority. An ambulance was sent for as Ray struggled to read Gina Chapman her rights. Uniformed backup, a crime scene team, and Lt. Welsh would have to wait until Ray had a free moment. Fraser stationed himself at the basement door to prevent any of the two dozen guests from further contaminating the crime scene.

After Ray settled Mrs. Chapman and secured her hands through a chair rail as comfortably as the circumstances permitted, he stepped into the hall. "Where we at, Fraser?"

"There's an ambulance on its way. That's the only call I made."

"Welsh is going to chew my butt for not getting backup."

"There was no reason for you to get backup for a few simple questions,

Ray. By the way, what did she say?"

"Nothing much. A little of this, a little of that, nothing much of anything. I wondered why you wanted to see the basement, Frase. Did you know they were down there?"

"No, but it seemed possible that the reason no one saw them after they left here was because they didn't leave." Sirens approached.

"I better call Welsh, too. He's at Vecchio's, right? Great. We're going to be late for dinner, too. By the time I get a statement it'll be midnight."

"That can't be helped, Ray. I'm sure Mrs. Vecchio is quite accustomed to the vagaries of policeman and their duties. And there will be leftovers. In my experience, Mrs. Vecchio's leftovers are in many ways superior to the first servings."

Ray brightened at this prospect. He made his calls, keeping a close eye on both Gina Chapman and her sympathetic guests until the paramedics retrieved Carrie and her distraught father from the basement. Mel Chapman barely glanced at his second wife, he was so concerned with Carrie. The pale little girl was nearly lost under the thermal blankets, intravenous fluids already fighting to counteract the effects of a week's exposure and dehydration. Unwilling to risk tearing her skin by removing the silvery gray tape, they'd left a half-circle of the stuff on each limb, a macabre imitation of childhood games.

In another half-hour they'd persuaded the concerned relatives to join Chapman at the hospital, offering sympathy and support and a place to stay. Uniformed officers secured the house and the crime scene specialists started their sad documentation of Sarah Chapman's fate. Ray insisted on seeing the body, to Fraser's unvoiced dismay. He hovered as tactfully as possible, unwilling to expose Ray to the derision of his uniformed colleagues. The last thing Ray needed was a reputation for having his hand held at crime scenes, in either the literal or metaphorical sense.

Ray turned a bit green, but managed to retain his breakfast and remain upright. The forensic team was familiar with Ray's squeamishness; it no longer held any amusement for them. The photographer greeted Fraser warmly, a salutation Fraser politely returned.

At the precinct, under gentle interrogation, Gina Chapman alternated between incoherent rage and defiant silence. After an hour, she demanded to speak to her lawyer, a man more accustomed to parking tickets and no-custody divorces than criminal matters, and was undeterred when he refused to leave his family's holiday gathering to oversee her questioning. Overwrought, she launched herself twice at Ray over the heavy wooden table. Ray was reluctant to stop before obtaining a statement, but even he admitted that Mrs. Chapman was unlikely to provide a cooperative account of herself without the opportunity to rest and reflect on her situation. Rather than expose her to the lockup overnight, Ray requested that she be taken to the hospital psychiatric ward for observation as a potential suicide.

Gina Chapman was carefully steered into an ambulance under the impression she was on her way to see her adored husband. Ray slowly wandered back to his desk, smiling at Fraser's serious expression and the rapid tap of his fingers over the computer keyboard. Some days it paid to know a guy who types.

Fraser had written his own account of the day's events and filled out as much of Ray's report as was possible without putting words into his partner's mouth. The crime scene photographs and reports would be added to the file. An autopsy would complete their findings.

They worked awhile on Ray's report. Fraser could type nearly as quickly as Ray formed sentences. Winding to a halt, stuttering between observation and speculation, they ended a final factual paragraph and allowed silence to claim them. Fraser saved the form and requested a printout. A tilt of his head sent Ray to the printer without a word.

As Ray collected the scraps of paper that vindicated his persistence, Fraser called the hospital. He inquired about Carrie Chapman's condition and was asked to hold. He suppressed a sigh and met Ray's glance.

"No rivals, Frase."

"What's that, Ray?"

"No rivals. That's what Stella said in my dream. Gina Chapman wanted to kill Sarah and Carrie because they were competition for her husband's affection."

"It's a working theory, I suppose." Fraser raised a hand to fend off Ray's gathering objection, and turned his attention to the phone. "Yes, I was calling about Carrie Chapman, a child brought in approximately four hours ago. Critical condition. Kidney failure and dehydration. You'll know more in twelve hours or so. Yes. Thank you kindly, ma'am."

Hanging up the phone, Fraser looked again at Ray. "They're being very cautious about Carrie's prognosis. I suppose that's understandable."

"You don't like my theory?" Ray appreciated the information, but would not be distracted.

"It's a fine theory, Ray. And quite likely correct. I simply hesitate to present something you experienced in a dream as the basis for a working hypothesis. I suspect Lieutenant Welsh will be less than content with a motive that is that personal and uncorroborated. And the prosecuting attorney will have some difficulty building a case around ... "

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Message received already, Fraser. At least those stupid dreams make sense now. As much sense as dreams can have, I guess."

"I don't understand."

"They're all triangles, Fraser. Or arrows, really. Three points on a line." Ray seemed certain, but he could see the imagery didn't resolve Fraser's questions. He punctuated his explanation with his fingers on the desktop. "Me to Stella to Vecchio. He kills me. That's one, right?"

"Yes, but you shoot Ray in another dream."

"Stella's not in that one, remember? That one's Vecchio to you to me. And the last one kills the first one."

"As I recall, you injured me in that dream as well."

"Probably my conscience telling me not to try it for real. Or maybe it's just my luck. Anyway, there's me to Stella to Vecchio. Then Vecchio to you to me, with the same outcome only a little messier. And the really bad one was you to Vecchio to Stella."

"Our relationships have gotten complicated, haven't they? It's a consistent explanation, at any rate. Why would Stella kill you in the last dream?"

"No rivals. I couldn't move until Vecchio touched me, but him touching me was what makes Stella pop me. Talking about this is so weird." Ray ran slender fingers through his hair, disarranging the artful tangles further and reminding Fraser of those same fingers on his own scalp. Fraser swallowed hard and twitched his glance away, sternly suppressing the impulse to reach out and fluff a flattened errant spike.

Ray smiled, at ease with himself for once. "I need to check a few things, Fraser, but then we can go. Call Vecchio and see if we're still welcome, will you?" He pushed himself away from the desk and stood up.

Fraser reached for the telephone before Ray had finished speaking. He spoke as he dialed. "Certainly, Ray. Do what you must."

Mrs. Vecchio answered Ray's cell phone, and explained that Ray was outside shooting baskets. Fraser simply told her that they'd been delayed, and asked whether they were still expected? Mrs. Vecchio tartly told him that dinner wouldn't wait, but he knew the exact moment she released her white-knuckled grip on her ever-present rosary. He envisioned the simple string decade she wore while working around the house. Ray claimed his mother's cooking was timed by the rosary and salvaged souls from purgatory as surely as it saved bodies from starvation. Dinner was on the table, she'd been about to call 'the boys' in to wash up when the phone rang.

Fraser was surprised to learn those nominative youths included Tony, Lt. Welsh, and Damien Kowalski in addition to Ray's nephews. Picturing bearish Harding Welsh and gruff Damien Kowalski as boys had Fraser grinning blindly into the receiver. He was sorry they'd missed the basketball, the two Rays made a formidable team. He apologized for their tardiness and promised to proceed with alacrity. Rosa Vecchio didn't seem to know what alacrity might be, so he told her they'd be there soon. Smiling at the phone long after the connection was broken, he didn't hear Ray approach.

"Pitter-patter, Frase. We forgiven, or do we eat spaghetti out of a can?"

"We aren't as late as I feared, Ray. All we've missed is your father and Tony playing basketball against Ray and the Lieutenant."

Ray whistled. "Working up an appetite, huh? They got my old man playing ball? World's ending, Fraser. Wonder who won?"

"I neglected to ask."

Ray looked Fraser over, eyes slightly narrowed. "You need to change clothes and wash up before we head over?"

"No, I think we'd better be moving."

They took a moment to tidy up, then headed for the door. Halfway to Octavia Avenue, Ray muttered, "Who's brilliant idea was this, anyway?"

"Mrs. Vecchio's, I believe. Why?"

"Why did I agree to have Thanksgiving dinner with my ex-wife, her husband, and my boss?"

"Because your ex-wife's husband is your partner, your parents will be there, and you couldn't think of a graceful way to decline without drawing undue attention to our relationship."

"Oh, yeah. I don't suppose we could get lost between here and there?"

"No, Ray. We're expected."

The rest of the short drive passed in silence, until Ray slid the GTO into an impossibly narrow space between the most recent Riv and the No Parking zone at the end of the block. "Expected, huh? In a crowd like this, it'd be three days before anyone noticed our absence."

"Well, we're here now, so let's make the best of it."

"You first." Ray shoved Fraser gently towards the front door, impishly goosing him and ducking Fraser's surprised swing.

The house was impossibly hot, the aroma redolent of onion and sage laced with beer and heavy with humidity. Condensation blurred the scene from curious outsiders. Not that there seemed to be many people who weren't invited to the Vecchio family feast. The undifferentiated din from a dozen competing conversations rose through the warm air. Ray shed his leather jacket and handed it to one of the shorter hostesses. Treesa giggled and flapped up the crowded staircase, wriggling between the plate-laden partygoers seated on every step.

Fraser half-turned when he felt a hand brushing his shoulder. "Cobwebs," Ray whispered behind him. "Didn't see 'em before."

"Benny!" Ray Vecchio emerged from the direction of the kitchen, carrying four bottles of Bell's. "You made it! Here, Thomas, bring these to your Uncle Matteo, Mr. Kowalski, and the Lieutenant. Tell your Pop to get his own if he wants it. Then go ask Aunt Frannie if Ma needs another hand in the kitchen. Come in, come in, close the door. You're letting all the warm out."

As Ray dutifully shut the door on the trickle of fresh air, his working partner reached the foyer and said casually, "Nice work, Kowalski. Couldn't have done better myself." He handed Ray the remaining bottle of beer.

"Fraser found them. Knew right where to look. I just went along for the ride."

"You're the one who kept at it long enough to turn Benny loose. Good instincts. The little girl gonna be okay?"

"Too soon to tell."

"Still, any chance she has is due to your persistence, Detective. Well done." The lieutenant maneuvered through the throng to Fraser's side. "I suppose the thanks of a grateful nation are once again in order, Sergeant?"

"Pure luck, sir."

"Around you, Fraser, luck seems to be the order of the day. Vecchio, have you seen your sister?"

"Maria was passing the cheeseball in the living room, sir. Frannie's in the kitchen with Ma." Vecchio's expression was puzzlement shaded toward suspicion as their superior officer excused himself and headed to the kitchen. "Listen, partner, you mind if I borrow Fraser for a few minutes?"

"Go ahead, I guess. I'd better find my folks, or I'll never hear the end of it." Ray nodded to Fraser, took another swig from his beer, and set off in search of his biological family, presumably ensconced somewhere in the bosom of the Vecchio clan.

"Your Dad's on the back porch with Tony, watching the game," Vecchio called after him. "Hey, Benny, you want something to drink? Glass of wine, some cranberry juice, a beer? We're eating in shifts today, on account of the silverware shortage. Don't ask. We're in the last group, so it'll be a few more minutes. Let's go somewhere a little more quiet, okay?"

"Lead on."

Even though it had been four years since the last time they'd shared a quiet space, Fraser still half-expected Ray to take him to a linen closet and motion him in. Instead, Ray opened the front door and waited for Fraser to join him on the small stone porch.

Ray pulled the Welcome mat to the top of the stoop and gingerly sat down. Fraser sat beside him, and for a minute or two they simply enjoyed the brisk late afternoon air in companionable silence.

Ray took a big breath and let it out slowly. "How's he doing?"

"Ray?"

"Yeah. I mean, he's got to be feeling pretty righteous, breaking that kidnapping and everything, but how's he doing otherwise?"

"He's fine, Ray. You work with him, have you noticed something amiss?"

"No, no. It's just - Benny, Stella's pregnant. In seven months, we're going to be parents, and I'm worried about how Kowalski will take it."

"You haven't told him?"

"We haven't told anybody. You're the first, even before Ma. Stella told me that one of the reasons they divorced was because he wanted kids and she wasn't ready. She's ready now, but she's worried that it'll cause a problem with Ray. I wanted your advice. He works with me, but he talks to you. He respects your opinion. How do we approach this? Do we tell him right away, or do we wait until things are a little more certain? Should Stella tell him, or should I, and how do we not make it sound like we're rubbing it in?"

"I really don't know."

Ray grinned and slid a sideways glance at Fraser. "Make a guess. I don't want to screw this up."

"I thought you weren't comfortable working with Ray?"

"It was tough at first." Ray ran a hand over his close-cropped skull. "Me and Stella, and the earlier circumstances, it wasn't easy figuring out whose life was whose, and where the line was. But he grows on a guy, like fungus. He's a good cop. We've got the best conviction record in the city. Not arrests, convictions. Everything's just settling down now, we've got boundaries and common ground worked out, and I don't want to mess it up."

"I think you should tell him. As his partner and his friend, you should tell him before making a general announcement."

"He still has feelings for Stella," Ray mused.

"His feeling for Stella are those of a protective friend, Ray. He'll always love her, but I don't think he's waiting for her any more."

"I don't know. He doesn't date. I tried to set him up with my cousin Janice, but he wasn't interested."

"Ray told me," Fraser said slowly, "that learning to live alone was difficult for him. Perhaps he's beginning to enjoy the solitude, or he fears becoming dependent again too soon? Give him time, Ray. Tell him your news, if only as a sign of respect, one partner to another. Don't expect him to be thrilled, but don't expect him to react badly. That's my advice."

"Yeah, okay, that makes sense. Do you have any idea how scary it is when you make sense?" Ray smiled to take the sting out of the words.

Fraser smiled in return. "About twice as scary as when I don't make sense?"

They sat awhile longer, listening to the buoyant celebration inside and breathing the tangy chill air. Fraser stirred first.

"Ray?"

"Hmmm?"

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." Ray eased a breath out slowly. "I was starting to think that kids were for other people. But here I am, with only a few months to figure out how to be a good dad. And it's not like I have a lot of role models to choose from, y'know? Pop was mostly okay, except when he wasn't. I guess he tried and did his best, but his best wasn't very good. I don't want to be him. I sure don't want my kid looking at me like I used to look at him."

"You'll make a wonderful father, Ray."

"How do you know that? How many times do we have to tell good people that their kids are drug addicts, or thieves, or some other kind of criminal? They mean well, they tried to be good parents, but their kids still went wrong. Fifteen years from now, I don't want to be wondering why my kid hates me, or where he is, or how I failed him. You don't get a do-over with kids, Benny. You don't see results for a decade, and by then it's too late to start over."

"Ray," Fraser commented, in a carefully measured tone that soothed without cloying. "Look at your sisters' children. Maria's children are bright, personable, active youngsters. They do well in school, they play well with others, and the mischief they get into is quite normal for children their age. Francesca's brood is still very young, true, but think of them as an opportunity to practice your parenting skills. I know you've helped watch them in the past. You'll be an old hand at fatherhood by the time Stella gives birth."

Ray calmed somewhat. "I guess. Hey, if Maria's kids can do okay with Tony, my kid'll be a genius."

Fraser frowned. "Parenthood is not a competition, Ray."

"I know, I know. But if Tony can do it, I can do it. I'm still just getting used to the idea. Thanks for the pep talk, let's see if Ma's ready to let us eat yet."

For Fraser, the remainder of the raucous evening passed in a blur. He indulged in far too much of Rosa Vecchio's justly famous sage-polenta stuffing, at Frannie's urging sampled the unlikely pretzel salad, and barely had room for the garlic mashed potatoes Barbara Kowalski contributed to the feast. One of the smaller Vecchios, he wasn't really sure which one, solemnly fed him black olives from her fingertips, a dubious treat he trusted would not unduly tax his immune system.

Between gustatory bouts, he visited briefly with the Kowalskis, exchanged pleasantries with Stella, teased Frannie so gently it went completely over her head, and circulated among the friends and relatives, just another guest sharing the Vecchio bounty. He saw Ray occasionally, another head bobbing in the multitude, but their paths didn't cross.

As the crowd began drifting towards their coats and car keys, Fraser struggled into the kitchen to thank Rosa for her hospitality. He found her up to her well-fleshed elbows in dishwater, and automatically offered to help. Twenty minutes and a good chat later, Ray found him drying the last of the good glassware.

"Ready to go?"

"Just about. Help me put away the pads and extra table leaves, then we can go."

"You got it. There musta been a hundred people in here today."

"Sixty-three," Rosa called from the back porch, where she was collecting the detritis into a big black trash bag.

Ray and Ben exchanged an amused look. They'd thought themselves alone; Rosa's contribution reminded them that privacy was more a polite convention than a function of solitude, particularly among the gregarious Vecchios.

Settling into the GTO, waiting for the heater to kick in, Fraser moaned, "I ate far too much. Why is it that dining with Ray's family always seems to result in gluttony and regret?"

"You've got no self-control, that's your problem," grinned Ray. "If you're so worried, why'd you agree to dinner tomorrow? It'll only be more of the same."

Truthfully, Fraser had difficulty thinking about any event that involved ingesting yet more food, but realized that no one else was to blame for his postprandial unease. "Well, the gathering should be much smaller tomorrow, and the number of people piling favorite tidbits on my plate while I'm not looking should be much reduced. Besides, with all the side dishes, I never did have any turkey."

Ray laughed and put the car in gear. "You're a freak, you know that? Hey, what did Vecchio want a private talk about? He thinking about emigrating to Canada or something?"

"It was a personal matter, Ray."

"Does he know Stella's pregnant?"

Fraser stared. "Yes. As a matter of fact, he wanted my advice on how best to approach you with the news. How did you know?"

"My mom guessed, and Stella was standing right there. They should have made the announcement tonight."

"Ray only told me because he was worried about you. He said they wanted to be sure."

"Yeah, I know. It can't be easy for him, either, working with me and living with Stella and keeping it all balanced. It's okay. It's really okay. He gets the high maintenance girl, the stable home life, the baby. I get you. I get you a couple of days a year, anyway." Ray laughed again, bitterness shadowing the mirth. "It's a fair trade. We'd probably kill each other in a week if we could be together all the time."

"Ray," Fraser said slowly, "I have one more piece of news. Potential news."

"Don't tell me you're pregnant, Fraser, my heart couldn't take the shock."

"No, no, nothing like that. As you know, my current assignment hasn't exactly been a rousing success. I've been looking for a different posting, and there's an opening on my level at the Consulate here. I was thinking about applying for a transfer."

"Fraser, you spent all your time here trying to get posted home. I know your job's the pits, but why would you come back here?"

"It's where you are." Stated so bluntly, without endearment or embellishment, his rationale sounded weak even to his own ears.

"You're nuts." Ray's soft voice put reassurance and affection in the short phrase.

"Even so. If you really think living in the same city would risk our relationship, I won't ask for the transfer."

"No, no, that's not what I meant! I was just trying to look on the bright side. The really shady bright side. This is a whole lot better. When would you be moving back?"

"Sometime after the New Year. I haven't even applied yet, and there aren't any guarantees."

"It's life, Fraser. No deposit, no return, all sales final. How open do you want to be about this, about us?"

"As open as you want to be. I have no secrets from my superiors."

"Well, maybe we don't have to deal with that yet. I mean, you lived in the Consulate and apartment hunted for over a year. Nobody's going to think twice if you bunk with me and don't find your own place right away."

"I suppose not. So, are you in favor of this move?"

"Hell, yeah. Look at us, Fraser. We're together, we broke an impossible case, we're well-fed, good-looking, and ready for anything. Let Vecchio be happy with his thing, I'm pretty okay with my thing. Uh, wait, that didn't sound right."

"It sounded fine, Ray."

"Only to you, Fraser. Only to you."

THE END